Daes Eage
by Wynteraeon
Summary: The Phantom Stallion set back in the Wild West...Sam's life changes after her mother's death and a terrible accident on her beloved horse Blackie: she returns from San Francisco a different girl to find some shocking news. How will she handle it?
1. Introduction

Hey all, Winteraeon here. So….this is the start of my Western Phantom Stallion story. It's not finished: I had wanted to finish it before I posted it, but I need some motivation and I figured this would help!

This story is Phantom Stallion meaning all of the characters and their attributes are Terri Farley's…names and such. That's my disclaimer: I don't want to have to post one on every single chapter so I will post it here at the beginning.

THE PHANTOM STALLION IS TERRI FARLEY'S.

Also, this is PS, but its set in the Wild West, the 1800's actually so it's going to be out of character, out of the original storyline…and whatnot. So don't worry if it's totally different or only slightly different. I want it to be and everything has a purpose!

And….I know this is long, but it's a long story and it needs a bit of an introduction.

I actually did a lot of research for this story: it starts in 1871 and it jumps around a bit after that…It should be quite clear hopefully…It is, of course, a Sake story, but there is some mystery as well. Also, I know the Phantom Stallion is about Blackie/Zanzibar/Phantom, but my story is not. I'm sorry! I love horses as much as the next girl, but I found Terri Farley's story a tad…umm….well, young. So…this is not so much about her relationship with a horse as it is about a mystery she must solve and her relationship with Jake, her father and just generally those around her. I'll try to keep things the same, but if I change something at the point I am at now, I may repost my first chapter if something major is changed. I'll try to mention it, so don't worry.

Finally, many of the aspects in my story, places, people, vocabulary, are factual. I will give a glossary at the beginning of each chapter and an explanation after. Hopefully that will work out. Try to read them: it's actually very interesting and without the glossary, you'll have a hard time understanding what they're talking about.

Ok, I think that's all….can't think of anything else. I hope you all like it!

One more thing…the title is Daes Eage. Does anyone know what that means? If so...tell me! I may give you a sneak peek of the next chapter...:)

Enjoy!

Winteraeon


	2. At The Beginning

**Ok, first chappy, guys! I hope you enjoy it…here is the vocabulary list. Please read it! It's important. **

**Balled up = confused**

**Bad box = in a bad predicament.**

**Bobbery = a squabble, argument.**

**Gallowses = suspenders**

**Hair Case = hat**

**Paintin' his nose = getting drunk**

**Old Towse = whiskey**

**Goney = an idiot**

**Doff = The action of partially removing a hat by males as a sign of respect**

* * *

_San-Francisco, California_

_1871._

Dust whirled around Wyatt Forster's feet as he jumped down from the grimy, old stage coach into the muggy air of San Francisco. He stretched his aching back and legs; cramped from the long ride. The air reeked of civilization and the hot sun blazed down on his head. Sweat dripped from his tawny hair into friendly brown eyes. He turned to catch his felt brown valise from the driver who threw the luggage down from his rig half-hazardly.

"Watch your step!" The aging driver called out.

Wyatt thanked him and turned to the stage coach door. His friend and childhood mentor, Dallas McGill, stepped out beside him. He ran a tanned, weathered hand through his salt and pepper hair and his golden-brown eyes danced merrily. He turned to Wyatt.

"Dontcha just love the city?" The smirk on his face widened as Wyatt snorted.

"Oh yeah, the smell of the factories, the people running all over you, drunks staggering out of saloons ready to blow you to pieces. Yeah, it's a great place." Sarcasm laced the younger man's tone as his mouth twisted, grimacing. Dallas just laughed; he knew the animosity Forster held for the big cities. Wyatt was much more of an open land kind of guy: much like Dallas himself.

They couldn't wait to get back on the stage and return to River Bend Ranch, the heirloom of the Forster family, just south of Darton, Nevada. The widespread playa and sage bushes called to the ranchers like a fine brandy to an age-long alcoholic. The land; it was in their blood; in their heritage. Still, it was important to buy more land to sustain their growing cattle operation and that was the reason these two cowboys were here.

"You got that address?"

"Yep." Wyatt answered, pulling out a crinkled, yellowish piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and read the already memorized information, his mouth moving only slightly. "Fairmount Street. Just further up north and we should come straight to it, if this map I bought is anything correct."

Dallas placed his beaten, tan Stetson back on his grubby hair and Wyatt followed suit with his own black hat. Their spurs jingled as they walked down the hectic street bustling with businessmen, beggars, and carriages. Bumping shoulders constantly with everyone wore on Wyatt's nerves and he mumbled under his breath. His hate for the city was ever-growing and if he didn't have to be here, he certainly wouldn't be. San Francisco was quickly developing into one of the largest cities on the western sea-board.  
_It wasn't that many years ago,_ Wyatt thought, _that we would have been standing in Mexico right now._

And that was true: California had become part of Mexico in 1821; only 50 years ago. His own father had fought in the Mexican-American War in 1846 when California had been annexed by the United States. Wyatt closed his eyes at the jolt of pain, the loss that ran through him as he thought of Truman Forster: a brave soldier and rancher who had survived the two year war only to succumb to Consumption last year. He pushed the thought away and continued admiring the flourishing city.

They passed by the Bank of California and Wyatt gazed at the plaque on the side of the impressive stone building. _Opened July 4__th__, 1964 by William Chapman Ralston_. It was obviously one of the richest banks in the country and Wyatt spied, but did not envy, the well-dressed employees milling about the rooms through the large, glass windows. The two cowboys passed by Levi Strauss & Co. and for a moment the younger cowboy was tempted to enter the store and examine the new jeans that Strauss and his partner Jacob Davis were rumoured to be making. _A stronger pant would suit me_, he thought, but the thought vanished from his head as the duo made their way around another corner, onto Clay Street, and he was faced with the site of the new cable car construction. The street was impassable by most wagons and horses, but pedestrians could walk along the board-way and watch the workers laying down tracks much like the railway track that was being laid not far from the city by the Chinese immigrants. It was an exciting thought: to be able move along the street on something other than a horse or your own two feet. The invention of the train was quite a feat, but the idea of a small _car_ moving along the street, _in the city,_ seemed almost impossible. Perhaps they would come back in a couple of years to experiment on the new system. _If this new land is good enough perhaps my ranch will able to produce enough for a vacation,_ Wyatt thought eagerly, patting his hand against his pocket to reassure himself that the letter was still there for the umpteenth time.

Another shoulder jolted him and made him spin in a half-turn. He almost grabbed the tall man with the bowler hat who hadn't even noticed his mistake, when Dallas grabbed him.

"Don't bother."

Wyatt stared into the familiar brown eyes of his colleague for a second and then nodded. His friend dropped his arm.

"Stupid city-slickers." Wyatt muttered under his breath, all excitement from the thought of new land overrun by his irritation at life in the big city. Dallas chuckled again and artfully dodged a young pick-pocket whose face flushed red ashamedly before he snuck away.

They made their way down the dry road, trying to ignore the well-dressed urbanites and the loud, harsh calls of the city life surrounding them. Another wagon rumbled by and the dust swirled around them making their eyes grit and lungs burn. They passed by more shops, blacksmiths, bath houses, laundries and saloons before entering what seemed to be a residential area. Large, Victorian-era houses lined the roads; it must have been the wealthier area they had turned into. Realizing their blunder, the two cowboys gazed enviously for a few moments at the expensive mansions before turning back and onto another street.

They were walking down the boardwalk, passing the Painted Lady Saloon; a chintzy, dirty looking building, when all of a sudden the swinging doors flew open and a middle-aged man was hurled out unceremoniously. He landed on his back and was left staring at the sapphire blue sky in wonder and astonishment.

"Well, that man's in a bad box, ain't he?" Dallas chuckled to his young boss. Wyatt nodded.

"Sure, looks a little balled up if you ask me."

The two amigos sidled up closer, pushing through the gathering throng for a closer look at the confusion. After they'd managed to fight themselves to the front, they noticed the man had stood up and brushed off his grimy clothes. Brown, greasy hair flopped over squinted, brown eyes. A long, rough scar wound across his dirt-covered face, but nothing distracted from the oily sneer the man had planted on his thin, brown lips. He seemed like a bad sort and yellowish, rotten teeth showed through as he shot a stream of tobacco into the dusty ground beside him.

The saloon doors swung open again, but the man that exited did so on his own two feet. He was extremely tall; almost 6'6'', with a shock of reddish brown hair and a gentle face that was now contorted and red with anger. He was muscular and brawny; veins bulged on his thick neck and biceps bulged through the blue and brown plaid shirt. His pants were tucked into dusty, cow-hide boots, but Wyatt wondered if the hem would even reach the giant's ankles. His brown eyes flashed with anger and Wyatt suddenly noticed the gun belt around his waist. Although every good cowboy had one, Wyatt felt abruptly worried that a gun fight would emerge. He didn't want to be around when it did. Unfortunately, Dallas seemed fixated on the commotion and didn't appear to be worried.

"I Dad!" Dallas pushed his Stetson onto the back of his head. "That feller's huge! Grease monkey, there, is in a lotta trouble. That giant looks mad as a hornet!"

"I wonder why?" Wyatt questioned, pushing closer to the scene, even though he felt it a bad idea. Despite the obvious danger, there was something intriguing about the tall cowboy and Wyatt couldn't figure out what it was. Perhaps it was that the giant man had such a serene face and yet such a forceful hand. He certainly didn't look that old; the face of a young boy and the body size of a fully grown man. He must have been 19 or 20 years old and yet he could've taken almost any of the men standing and gawking at the bobbery before them. Before the young man could take a step towards his adversary, however, another character entered the scene. The spectators turned, as one, to watch the older man come traipsing in slowly.

The glinting star of a sheriff shone from its position on his chest and his beige hair case sat low on his forehead. He strolled forward with the gait of an old, stiff cowboy; a graceful walk, with bowed legs. His hands were tucked into his dark leather gun belt and a slightly yellowed, long trench coat made a trail in the dust behind him. His spurs chimed as he approached the fiasco and a deep silence fell over the crowd.

"There been a problem here, fellers?" His voice was raspy from disuse and his drawl was slow. He seemed more like a small town sheriff than a large city one. His weathered face was relaxed, but the green eyes peering from the greyish, bushy eyebrows were sharp and bright. His stance was loose, but his hands were in perfect position to whip out the twin pistols that were slung low on his hips. The two men who'd been brawling looked at the sheriff before the smaller, greasy man began whining.

"Sheriff, I was just enjoying a nice, fine, Old Towse…"

"Paintin' his nose, most likely." Wyatt muttered to Dallas.

"When this here brute came in and threw me out! I ain't done nothin' wrong." He held up his hands in defence and pulled his thin lips from a sneer into a pout.

The tall man simply stood as the sheriff moved closer to him.

"And you, son?" The words were quieter, but it was obvious they were directed at the gentle giant.

"He stole my horse." The young man said tersely.

"Which one?"

His brown hand pointed to a tall, bay gelding tethered to the hitching post before the saloon. The sheriff, to the crowd's surprise, walked towards the mount and quickly unfastened him, leaving the calm horse ground-tied. The weather-beaten older man than returned to his original stance beside the younger giant.

"Have any proof?"

The giant looked at him for half a second before raising his hand to his mouth. A loud whistle pierced the air and the gelding turned and jogged towards its owner. The sheriff nodded and sighed.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Ross."

"You got a last name, Ross?"

"Hillings." Obviously he wasn't a man of many words.

"Well, it looks like this old biddy knows who he belongs with. Just don't disturb the peace anymore, got it?"

Ross Hillings nodded as he stroked the blaze on the bay's nose. The sheriff then walked towards the other man who had retrieved his fallen hat from the ground and was currently trying to sneak through the crowds.

"Harry Jenkins…I thought that this must be you. You just-a like causin' trouble, dontcha?" The elderly sheriff grabbed the squawking man by the scruff of his neck and pulled him through the spectators in the direction of a tall, dingy building. The jail, most likely.

Dallas and Wyatt glanced at each before moving towards Ross. The man was packing up his saddlebags, his face cleared of the anger that had graced it before.

"Howdy, stranger." Wyatt extended his hand towards the victor. Ross glanced at it before taking it in his own and shaking it. His grip was firm and his hands calloused.

"Howdy." One word conveyed an entire message; _what do you want?_

"I like what you did back there." Wyatt threw a glance towards the departing backs of the sheriff and the weasel, Jenkins. "That goney deserved that. I appreciate a man who can stand up for himself. Sign of a good rancher. And a good worker." He drew a breath before continuing. "You needin' work, kid?"

Ross glanced up, obviously surprised. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

"Y-y-yeah, I g-g-guess." So the confident man had a stutter. How hard it must have been for him to keep it from showing only moments before. Perhaps that was why he had kept his sentences short. It mustn't have made life easy for him. Thankfully Darton was a town of acceptance.

"I own a ranch in a little town called Darton. It's not much, but it's a good operation. We're gettin' bigger and I'll be needing more workers. Trustworthy workers. You game?"

Ross nodded.

"Alright then. Get your pack and meet us at the stage tomorrow afternoon. You can bring your horse and follow along behind."

The big man nodded and the two ranchers turned away, satisfied at a great start to their hiring. They started back towards the object of their destination. The rest of the crowd had drifted away by this time and it wasn't hard to find their path again.

In a few minutes they had managed to land themselves in front of a newly constructed building, with clean windows and a polished sign reading 'H. E. Horton, Solicitor's Office.'

"I thought he was a land owner and rancher." Wyatt turned to his salt and pepper haired companion, confused. "Not a lawyer."

"I think he's both. Just a very wealthy rancher, s'all."

Wyatt hit his dusty boots against the step, knocking off some of the dust, in courtesy of the clean building and its occupants before opening the door. A gust of cool air met his face as he stepped inside and he surveyed his surroundings. The wooden building was obviously well assembled, the interior was lit from the exterior lighting and several dim lamps set upon the walls. Well-made rugs fit the planked floors and gleaming brass knobs adorned the furniture and doors. Several comfy couches and chairs littered the room while sullen people in smart suits worked quietly at large oak desks. It was silent, but for the scratch of pen on paper and the opening and closing of cabinets.

Finally, a small, balding man looked up at the two strangers from his desk. His shiny white head was beaded with moisture and his squinty eyes were magnified behind his rimmed spectacles. His chair scraped back and with quick, mouse-like movements he moved to stand before the cowboys. He kept his pudgy hands folded in front of him, _a nervous gesture_ Wyatt thought, and rocked onto the balls of his feet.

"My name is Winston. How may I help you gentlemen?" His higher-pitched tone was slightly condescending as if he didn't see many cowboys in this office: which was probably the case. Wyatt ignored this offence and showed the stout little man the worn paper he withdrew from his pocket. The banker took the wrinkled piece by the corners as if it had smallpox and wrinkled his nose. Disdain marred his features as he read it quickly.

"I'm sorry, sir; I don't believe we can help you here." Wyatt, fed up with his haughty attitude, grabbed Winston by his shiny white lapels.

"I just travelled from Nevada on a dirty old stage coach, endured walking through this filthy city to get here and now you tell me 'you can't help me?' I don't think so, fella. I'm here to see Mr. H. E. Horton and you're going to take me to him now."

The little man squeaked and scooted backwards as soon as Wyatt let him go. The movement was so amusing; Dallas had to fight to hold in his laugh. As if Wyatt would have actually harmed the little man…

"Of course, right away sir. Follow me, please." He turned and marched towards the back offices through a channel of desks and workers who hadn't even noticed the disturbance.

They approached a large, intricately designed, mahogany door and Winston knocked. It took only several seconds after the sharp rap for someone to open the door. It opened to a large, tanned man with sandy brown hair and striking green eyes. He was clad in a plaid shirt, black suit jacket and pants fixed to gallowses. A pair of cowboy boots and a black Stetson completed the outfit. On anyone else they might have stood out, but on this big man, they seemed a perfect fit. He stared at the three for half a second.

"Ahhh, you must be Wyatt Forster, yes? I've been expecting you ever since your telegram last week! Do come in, do come in. Winston, don't stand there dillydallying all day. Get us some tea…or coffee, gentlemen? Which would you prefer?"

"Uh, coffee's fine thanks." Wyatt answered, slightly bewildered by this large, fast-talking man. He and Dallas were ushered into the large room beyond the door.

"Yes, well, get to it, Winston." And with that, he slammed the door in the conceited little man's face before turning to the two men standing in his well-furnished, elegant office. "So, if I do understand correctly you wish to purchase some of my land out in little 'ole Darton, huh?"

Wyatt nodded, "That is correct, sir." Something about this great, friendly man compelled respect.

"Ah, well, I am being rude. Your friend here…"

"Oh, Dallas…Dallas McGill, sir. I'm his foreman." Dallas held out his hand and Horton shook it with a big, beefy paw.

"Pleasure, pleasure, I am sure. So, on to business then, what do you say gentlemen?" He shook the crumpled paper Wyatt hadn't even seen Winston give him and pulled some spectacles from his plaid shirt breast pocket. He hummed and hawed as he read, making Dallas and Wyatt glance at each other nervously, wondering if there was something wrong with the purchase or deal. Finally he finished and put his spectacles away again. He sat down in a plush, red velvet chair and motioned for the cowboys to do the same.  
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could there was a brief knock at the door and Winston came in, carrying a silver tray with a round, burnished teapot and three dainty china cups. With a sour face, Winston set it on the short, dark wooden end table and left again, closing the door behind him. Horton poured a cup for each and they all sat back; Horton sipping politely and Dallas and Wyatt nervously fiddling with the delicate porcelain handles on their dishes.

"Well, it is a good size, that land. Not cheap, not cheap, but reasonable. You are a rancher, you say?" He didn't even wait for Wyatt to respond before continuing. "Yes, well a rancher is always welcome; cattle ranchers especially. I used to do that myself, back in the day. Good business it is." He stood up and strode over to his magnificent mahogany, Victorian desk and opened one of its many compartments. He pulled out several crisp leaflets of paper before settling back down in his chair.

"I have the paper work here, if you wish to sign now." He handed it to Wyatt as well as a pen.

"Yessir, I got the money and a loan from the bank just before I came to San Francisco." Wyatt informed him as he scribbled his signature on the bottom of the paper before pulling a leather pouch from inside his shirt and removing all of the bills from inside. Dallas mirrored his motion and they gave Horton the combined cash. He raised an eyebrow at their action.

"It is dangerous to carry money on you like that."

"I know that sir." Wyatt made no excuses. Horton chortled and settled down in his plush velvet chair even more.

"You been doin' this long, boy?" Horton's tone turned conversational and Wyatt shifted to a more comfortable position.

"Uh, yes sir. My pa taught me all I know and turned the ranch over to me when I was 17. He had an accident during a roundup. Fell off and was trampled by the herd. Ended up losing his leg. He died last year, sir." Wyatt ignored the burning in his throat as he told the friendly man about his brave, unfortunate father. "Consumption, it was."

"Ah," Horton nodded, "your pa would be proud to have this land, I'm sure." Wyatt nodded, unwilling to speak and show any sign of weakness. Horton didn't seem to notice, but Dallas did and he quickly changed the subject.

"May I ask, Mr. Horton, what made you stop cattle ranching?"

"Oh of course, Mr. McGill," he responded, cheerily, "I inherited my fortune one day from my old man who off and kicked the bucket. My wife, Dolores, God rest her soul, wanted to live in the city, so we moved and that was that."

"Didn't you miss it?"

"Oh, of course I did! But Dolores meant more. Besides that was a very long time ago. In fact, I think I may have known your grandfather. I hadn't the heart to sell the land, but I woke up one day a month ago and realized it was time to let go."

"That wouldn't have been my grandfather," Wyatt interjected, "my father moved us there when I was two; 1849, I believe." Horton nodded.

"Ah yes, Nevada wasn't even part of the union yet, was it?"

"Not till 1864, sir. That was when Pa had the accident and I came into ownership of River Bend Ranch."

"Yes, I remember, I was surprised to learn that my land in Utah suddenly wasn't in Utah anymore. It changed states without even moving," he chuckled lowly, "almost lost it then. So much paper work and all." He shook his head. "But I fought for it and now I'm selling it."

He rose from his chair. Wyatt and Dallas did the same and the men all shook hands.

"Good luck to you gentlemen. I hope this land fairs ye well, as it did me for years. Maybe I'll be seeing you again in the future."

They bid each other farewell and the two cowboys left the office, passing through the front office, earning an acidic look from Winston. Wyatt gave him a cheery wave and the men chuckled as the minute man's face turned a brilliant shade of purple, his nose drawing a line in the air.

Walking down the busy street again, Wyatt and Dallas laughed about the undersized pompous little man, their joy at having more land overwhelming their irritation at the city-dwellers.

"Oh, the look on his face when you waved at him. It was priceless, my friend. What say we go out and celebrate our good fortune at that fancy little restaurant under our hotel?" Dallas rubbed his dry, tanned hands together in anticipation of a hot cooked meal rather than the stale meat and dry bread they had been eating on their journey. "It'll be good to have a nice meal again. Although it won't be nothin' compared to Grace's cookin'." He referred to Wyatt's mother.

"Yeah," he frowned, "I hope she's doing okay."

Dallas waved his hand, "You worry too much, Wyatt. She's fine, she's a fighter. Losin' your pa, then getting sick… It was tough, but she'll be back on her feet in no time. Besides, you can't worry about her. You done all you can, taking her in like this, caring for her. Not many sons would do so for their mothers. Of course, most men have their own little wives at home who wouldn't appreciate 'mama-in-law' living with them. You don't have to worry about that yet, do you?"

He snorted as Wyatt rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'not this again,' under his breath. "Oh yes, this again. You're 24 years old and you have your own ranch; a good-sized ranch, I might add." He brandished the signed deed and then shoved it back into his pocket. "It might be time for you to cut a rusty and settle down, you old codger."

Wyatt laughed, "Watch who you're callin' old, you. If I'm old, then you're positively ancient." He pushed the older man's shoulder softly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just don't savvy women, is all. Never have and I've never met one I wanted to marry, yet. Darton ain't that big."

"Excuses, excuses! Why there's Norma-Beth, Janie, Little Sue, Clara, um…well, and Phyllis. Uh…"

"My point exactly." Wyatt shrugged his broad shoulders. "I guess when it hits me, it'll hit me."

And then it hit him.

A petite figure ran square into his well-built chest, almost knocking him over. He caught the person and steadied both of them.

"You alright? Goin' a little fast, ain't ya…" He trailed off as the small individual looked up at him. Big sky blue eyes stared up at him from a petite ivory face. Dark, flowing auburn hair was tied back with a burgundy ribbon matching her silky dress. Tiny porcelain hands rested against his solid torso and he was certain she could feel the sudden acceleration of his heart beat. _So this is love at first sight_, he thought in the back of his mind, though he never would have admitted it to anyone. Desperate to know this gorgeous creature's name, he gently grabbed the hands that were still glued to him in shock.

"I'm sorry, miss. Are you alright?"

The girl shook her head sending a fragrance of daisies washing over Wyatt; making him nearly dizzy.

"I'm fine, thank you so much, sir. I apologize for running into you. I surely am such a clutz." Her soft velvet voice and slight San Franciscan accent made his head spin and the shy, embarrassed smile fixed on her soft pink lips caused his heart thud.

"Not at all," he hurried to correct her, "You're not. It was I…I mean, me…I wasn't looking where I was going."

Her smile softened and her cheeks flushed slightly. Casting her eyes downward in a shy motion, she pulled back very slightly to a more respectable position, claiming her hands again. They stood there for a moment in awkward silence before Wyatt came to his senses and doffed his hat. Dallas did the same as they heard someone come running towards them.

"Louise Ann Parker! What were you thinking, running off like that? I lost you in all this madness. You're lucky you weren't run ov…" The young woman stopped as she noticed the two tall cowboys standing beside the other girl. "Oh."

Wyatt figured they were sisters, as they looked very similar, but Louise was absolutely the more gorgeous of the two. And now he knew her name.

"Miss Louise?" It sounded like heaven on his tongue and he continued. "If I may call you that? I apologize again for running into you." She tried to interrupt, probably to reassure him that the incident had been entirely her fault, but he held up his hand. "No, it was my fault and I insist I make it up to you. How about if my good friend, Dallas and I take you lovely ladies out to dinner? It would be our treat, of course."

"Oh, we couldn't."

"I'd love to!"

The sisters looked at each other in surprise before Louise spoke again.

"We'd love to, right Susan?" The other petite brunette nodded her head, not smiling. She had a friendly face and seemed as gentle as her sister albeit slightly unwilling and wary.

"Well, this here is Dallas McGill and my name is Wyatt Forster. It sure is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Louise."

"And I, you, Mr. Forster."

* * *

**The cable car was not actually operational in San Francisco until August 2, 1873.**

**The Bank of America information is true as is the news about Levi Strauss & Co. They were an up and coming organization that began to sell jeans in the 1870's and at this point Jacob Davis was just inventing the copper rivet on the most vulnerable part of the pant. He did not actually team up with Levi Strauss until 1873.**

**The disease Consumption is actually Tuberculosis. Also known as the "Vampire Disease" because of many of the symptoms; red eyes, sensitivity to light, pale skin, very low heartbeat and cold skin among others. **

**Nevada separated from the Utah territory on March 2, 1861.**


	3. A Future With You

**Hey guys! Second chapter here. Its VERY short. Just a warning! Its a filler, but its a cute one I hope! Thanks to all my reviewers! Your all kind...Sophia got the answer right, although Daes Eage is actually Latin. Unfortunately I don't have any way to contact you so I'm sorry I couldn't send you this chapter! If you message me, I'll send you the third part...And thanks so much to Katana for her aweseome Betaing! And to God's Rider for all her help with the ideas...so, without further ado...**

* * *

Chapter 2

The month had gone too quickly for Wyatt's liking. He'd stayed on even after Dallas and Ross had left the day after he'd met Louise Parker. He knew he should have gone back to take care of business after his large purchase, but he couldn't bring himself to leave this young girl who had stolen his heart. Dallas had understood and he had even been the one to suggest that Wyatt stay for a while longer. So he had taken a temporary job at her father's mill and had stayed through the month. He knew, however, that he was going to have to leave soon; he needed to get back to his ranch. But he couldn't leave her, not yet.

Maybe he hadn't known her long, maybe he was just crazy, but he knew one thing. He wasn't leaving San Francisco without her. Unless she said no: which was the only reason he hadn't asked yet. He fingered the plain gold ring in his pocket. He'd bought it last week with most of the money he'd made working at the mill. He rubbed his sweaty palms together. Perhaps tonight he would ask her. He knew her family wouldn't mind; of course they wouldn't want him taking her so far away to Nevada, but they wanted her to be happy and they liked him a lot. Besides, Wyatt was certain she would be happy with him. She was a bit of a flighty girl, quite spoiled and a complete city-slicker: living out in the desert might be hard for her at first, but together they could get through, he would take care of her. He couldn't live without her.

He strode up to the magnificent door, remembering how that first evening he was so intimidated as he came to ask for permission to court her. He remembered meeting her father, a tall man, with a strong chin and kind blue eyes. Her mother was short, petite like her girls, but her hair was quite red and her eyes a gentle green. They had gladly given him their permission to court their pretty young daughter, who was beside herself with glee at their approval and they had even come to know the handsome young cowboy quite well. He fit their standards, as they were not the snooty type of rich people who condemned the poor people simply because they were less fortunate or perhaps born into the wrong family. They valued his hardworking ethics, his decent morals and appreciated his kindness.

As for Wyatt, he admired the Parkers greatly and noted the love and kindness shown in their home and how close the family was. Of course, the girls were spoiled and slightly selfish, but it was to be expected. They were the apple of their parent's eyes and could do no wrong, but it didn't make them spiteful girls or hateful in any way. On the contrary, they were sweet and delicate tempered with an eagerness to please others. Louise was even more so than her sister Susan, who seemed reserved, but still friendly.

On Wyatt's part, well, he had even come to appreciate the city in all of its splendour and filth. He still dressed like the cowboy he was, but to Louise it made him 'all the more dashing and handsome.' She particularly loved his black Stetson, being quite a romantic girl and having read one too many romance novels.

The couple would spend afternoons together lounging in the sun whenever they could, having picnics, something Wyatt would never have done before, and taking walks. Wyatt even learned how to dance for her and she learned to ride for him. Their love was young, innocent and selfless.

And so, Wyatt really had nothing to fear as he knocked on that huge oak door on the white mansion. The butler opened it and a smile came to his kind face.

"Mister Forster. Come right in, son. She's just getting ready. She'll be down, directly."

Wyatt thanked the kind man and walked into the large white parlour and looked around the well-known room. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, expensive artwork adorned the walls and luxurious carpets covered the floor. The classy furniture was both appealing to the eye and the posterior. Sending his eyes traveling over the room, Wyatt felt himself swallow in anticipation as he remembered his wooden house in Darton. Even though it was not that small; two stories with four bedrooms, a study, a large kitchen and visiting area, (why there was even an indoor water closet!), it was nothing compared to this vast mansion.

_Love conquers all, love conquers all, love conq_…His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted her descending the spiral, marble staircase. Her ivory hand graced the polished banister and it almost seemed as if she were floating down the stairs in her satin yellow gown, with daisies braided into her hair. White lace ruffles adorned the collar and hem; a yellow ribbon was tied around her graceful neck. She was an absolute vision and Wyatt felt his nerves dissipate. He ran a hand through his combed hair, undoing all the combing he had done to straighten it and it fell back into its rugged style over his eyes. He straightened his neatly pressed jacket and stepped forward, offering his hand to her. She took it; a smile lighting up her features at the mere sign of him.

"Are you ready?" He asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Of course." They left the house and Wyatt called for a coach, a luxury he could usually never afford. They rode a ways before they finally came to the edge of the park. After they'd left the small coach, they walked along the well-worn path enjoying the picturesque view of the moon playing lightly over the trees and grass. The wind whistled gently through the trees and the soft _chirp_ of crickets singing to them. The moon glanced off the soft petals of the snow white daisies braided through her hair; the yellow pollen in the center seemed to glow.

Wyatt remembered asking her once, why she liked daisies so much.

"Well, they're simple. Like me." She had replied, twirling two daisy stems together, creating a daisy chain.

"Simply beautiful?" He'd asked, smiling ruggedly. She had laughed and slipped her delicate fingers into his strong, weathered hand.

"My mama always sings me that song, you know. About the daisies;

_There is a flower within my heart,  
Daisy, Daisy,  
Planted one day by a glancing dart,  
Planted by Daisy Bell.  
Whether she loves me or loves me not  
Sometimes it's hard to tell,  
But there are those that would share the lot  
Of beautiful Daisy Bell._"

Lost in the past, he stared at the white and yellow flowers adorning the young woman's hair: still able to hear her beautiful voice singing the haunting melody.

Side by side, they strolled leisurely in companionable silence until finally Louise broke it.

"Something's up, Wyatt. I know you. What is the special occasion that we took a carriage and everything?" She lightly skipped in front of him and stopped, halting both of them. He sighed inwardly, unsure of how to do this correctly as his nerves started up again. He took her hands in his and gently moved them over to a park bench where they sat. Now how was he supposed to say it gently? Maybe he would lead into it with another conversation or…

"I have to go home."

Or maybe he'd just blurt it out like an idiot.

Her blue eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled, "You're leaving?"

He could have shot himself at that moment for making her cry.

"I have to, Lou! I have to run my ranch and we have round-up coming up. The steers…" He trailed off and sighed as a tear wet a tiny trail onto her petite face.

"I don't want you to go." She said softly, her voice wavering.

"I know, darling. I don't want to go either, but I have to."

She pulled her hands from his and turned away, cupping her face in her hands. Wyatt could hear her sobbing quietly and his heart nearly broke. He gently touched her shaking shoulders and she turned into his chest, still weeping.

"Lou?"

She managed to compose herself again and she looked at him, her beauty only magnified by her dark, wet eyelashes and the tear trails across her porcelain cheeks. The daisies in her hair glowed in the moonlight.

"Lou, I want you to come with me."

Her pink lips parted in a soft gasp, and her eyes widened as he disentangled himself from her, kneeling down and pulling the small ring out of his pocket. His hand was clenched and then he opened it to reveal the plain gold circlet that glinted in the moonlight.

"I want to come with me as my wife. I love you, I can't live without you. Will you marry me, Louise Parker?"

For a second, she didn't move and Wyatt almost keeled over from anticipation when suddenly she knelt down and threw her arms around him, crying harder than ever. Except this time, there was a gigantic smile gracing her beautiful face.

"Yes, oh yes, Wyatt Forster, I love you, I will marry you!"


	4. What the Future Holds

_Hey guys! Sorry for such the long wait! I've been working and teaching all summer and haven't had a chance to upload or write! Now that my job is winding down, I have some time, but I'm not sure about my next updating schedule! Could be a while...anyways...thanks to Max and God's Rider! They are awesome! Hope you like it!_

_Darton, Nevada_

_1872_

The screams from the upstairs bedroom had Wyatt on his feet in an instant. They dissipated and he resumed his earlier pace. His palms were sweaty as he rubbed them together and he couldn't keep from glancing towards the wooden staircase and the room where his beautiful wife was struggling to give birth to their child. A feeling of guilt swept over him as he once again thought that it was entirely his fault. His old friend, Dallas, sat calmly in the wicker rocking chair watching the nervous husband and soon-to-be father. He'd aged only a little, but appeared much older than their neighbour and good friend Luke Ely, who sat, napping, on the plush settee, his black hat pulled over his eyes. His wife, Maxine, was upstairs, aiding in the birth, and their youngest son, Jacob, sat beside his father, mirroring his movements with his own, smaller black Stetson. Wyatt glanced at the larger Shoshone man who had helped him start his ranch and train some of his hardest horses.

Luke had had a difficult life; being full Shoshone Indian made it hard for him as his life had been filled with prejudice. Thankfully, the small town of Darton was gentle and the people were kind and just. Even his children, seven boys, were very accepted and respected as half Shoshone and half White. Of course, his wife, Maxine was as blonde and white as one could be. Jake was an exact replica of his father, as were all of the boys.

The dark-skinned man tipped his hat back, revealing that he had indeed not been sleeping. Jake followed suit.

"You need to calm down, my friend." His tone was gentle, yet teasing as well.

"He's right," Dallas added, "women do this all the time. They're used to it."

"Yes, but she's screaming. She's in pain and I can't _do_ anything. I just can't stand not doing anything. I should be helping somehow. I don't know how." Wyatt felt so useless; powerless to help his delicate wife with whom he was completely in love.

They had been married for one and a half years and almost every moment had been complete paradise. Of course, there were times when they fought and had their little disagreements, but things always worked out in the end. Life was good and Wyatt couldn't be happier; especially now that they were going to have a child. A boy, he was certain of it: a boy to help him run the ranch and take over when he got too old. Yes siree, it was an exciting time, but all of these thoughts fled from the rancher's mind as he heard his wife scream yet again. Wyatt clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. He glanced over at Luke and wondered how the man could nap at a time like this. Wyatt guessed he was used to it after having had seven children. Even the boy, at three now, was calm.

"Were you this nervous when Kit was first born?" He referred to the eldest Ely, a strapping 16 year old who was showing great promise in the ranching business. Luke laughed and nodded.

"A-course. I was that nervous when alla the boys were born. Even with little Jacob here," he patted his youngest son on the head and Jake looked up from playing with the string on his hat, smiling innocently and bouncing his feet above the ground, "I'll admit it. It's a father thing, I suppose. That's why Dallas don' understand." He smirked at the older cowboy and Dallas rolled his eyes.

"Pshaw, and I suppose all fathers git all addle-headed when their women are havin' babies? I don't think so. Like I said, it's natural."

"Yes," Wyatt said, "but it's also dangerous. How many women die in child-birth? It just ain't fair."

"She ain't dead, Wyatt!" Dallas nearly shouted, startling Jake who looked at the cowboy, wide-eyed, "You jest need to calm yourself down and sit. Go on, sit." Wyatt gave his old friend a hard look and had just seated himself on the plush settee when Helen Coley practically flew out of the room where his wife lay and down the wooden steps at a very un-ladylike pace. The cook of Harmony Ranch, owned by Jed Kenworthy, another neighbour of Wyatt's, was panting by the time she reached the bottom. This time all of the men stood, even little Jake.

"How is she?" Wyatt couldn't get it out fast enough. "Is she alright? What about the baby; is he alright? How are they?" Mrs. Coley held up both of her rough, work-toughened hands to slow the rancher down.

"Now calm down, Wyatt."

The rancher threw up his hands, tired of being told to 'calm down.'

"Your wife is just fine and so is the baby." She panted. Wyatt let out a whoop loud enough to wake the country and grabbed Dallas in a hug. Luke backed away quickly to avoid his over-excited friend and held his son out in front of him as a sacrifice in case the crazy new father decided he wanted to hug the big Shoshone man.

"I got a child! Did you hear that? I got a son. Luke, he'll be best friends with your boys, probably Jake most of all. They'll learn how to ranch together, ride together and work a herd together. We talked about his name. We're gonna call him Sam. Isn't that a good name? It's a good, strong name and he'll be a strong, tough…"

"Um, Wyatt?" Mrs. Coley butt in, almost timidly. The animated cowboy stopped to look at the short, stout woman surprised that she would ever sound timorous.

"Yes?"

"Ahem," she cleared her throat and fidgeted, obviously feeling slightly uncomfortable, "it's not really…a…boy, y'see…she's…well, she's a girl." She cringed back slightly: an action that completely belied the type of woman she was; robust, resilient and brave-hearted.

Wyatt stood completely still, his mouth still opened, forming the words he'd been about to say. Slowly, it dawned on him.

"I have a girl?" It was said almost child-like. "Oh…that's wonderful too." His voice was low and it was obvious his excitement had been curbed by this announcement.

"She's absolutely beautiful and completely healthy." Mrs. Coley announced, hoping this would liven the no-longer smiling cowboy. He nodded distractedly as he saw all of his dreams and plans disappear.

"I'm sure she's absolutely lovely and that's wonderful." He fixed a smile on his face, but it was obviously fake. The other two men and the small boy looked slightly disappointed as well and Mrs. Coley felt like slapping all of them (except for Jake, as he was too cute to slap).

"Well, why don't you go see them? Then you can make up your mind and tell your wife you hate your child." With that, she lifted her nose into the air and stalked off to the kitchen to clean herself up as she was still covered with evidence of the birthing process. Wyatt's mouth opened as he tried to defend himself, but nothing came out and so he promptly snapped it shut. How could a woman understand a father's need to have a son to carry on his line and help him run the ranch? Obviously she couldn't and he wasn't too keen on the idea of enlightening her at the moment.

Silently, the three and a half men trudged up the stairs and entered into the well-furnished bedroom. Blue painted wooden-panelled walls surrounded them and white lacy curtains framed the glass windows that admitted silvery beams of light. The large, four-poster oak bed, as well as the white cotton sheets, was rumpled and dirty: the woman that lay on top of it was even more so. But she held the bundle in her arms as if she were the Queen of England carrying the Crown Jewels. She looked up as the three cowboys entered and each one of them saw the beautiful smile on her gorgeous face. She was positively glowing and Wyatt gulped.

She motioned for her husband to come closer and so he did; ambling slowly towards the large bed and the dark wooden chair that stood beside it. Maxine Ely, petite and blonde, stood on the other side of the bed, covered in blood and sweat and smiling like a madwoman. She walked over to her tall, dark husband and put a hand on his arm, and the other on her own child's head, still looking at the new mother and child.

Wyatt bent over to examine his new daughter and felt his heart swell. How could he have ever been disappointed? She was absolutely beautiful and so small. He sank into the chair behind him, not even noticing that it was there. Gently he took the tiny bundle from his fatigued wife and held it close to his chest. The tiny porcelain features were so small he wondered if she was made of glass; and she was so light! Tiny fingers were curled into tiny fists and miniature feet beat wildly. He gazed at his little girl, completely bedazzled. The women smiled knowingly.

"She's beautiful." He said, to no one in particular.

"I know." Louise's voice was hoarse from use, but loving and gentle. "Of course, we're going to have to find a new name for her. Sam doesn't exactly work, now does it?" Wyatt laughed softly, so as not to wake the sleeping newborn. He looked over at the other occupants of the room and motioned them to come for a closer look. Silent, little Jake was the only one to move as he bounded over and gazed at the smaller child.

"Tiny." His child-like voice wondered.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she, Jake?" Wyatt smiled at the young boy. "What do you think would be a good name for her?"

"Sam." Jake replied. The adults laughed.

"No, Jake, that's a boy's name. She's a girl." Wyatt corrected. "We have to think of a pretty name for her. Like Anne or Carol or….something." He shook his head. Nothing he said sounded right. None of them fit. She needed the perfect name fit for the perfect little girl that she was.

"Sam!" Jake's tiny voice repeated, indignantly. His stubbornness was shining through and it made the adults chuckle. Jake just scowled and shook his head, the expression on his face one of annoyance and yet a certain look of knowing was sitting on his features; it was as if he knew something the others didn't. Perhaps that he was going to get his way on this one.

Maxine tilted her golden head thoughtfully and perched her bloodied hands on the white apron that covered her yellow gingham dress.

"My ma had this cousin, way back now," she said thoughtfully, "and she was a right lady. Her name was Samantha, but we all called her Aunt Sam. She was a nice lady; gave all us kids a piece of liquorice when she came a-callin'."

Louise glanced down at her daughter.

"Perhaps you can have the name Sam after all." She cooed to her infant daughter in a melodic voice.

"What's so important about the name Sam?" Luke inquired, glancing from one new parent to the other.

"It's my father's name." Louise said, taking her infant back from her tall husband. "I've always wanted to name one of my children after one of my parents; especially my father. Since he never had any boys there is no one to carry on the Parker name. So, I decided while I was young that I would name my son after my father. Give him a legacy of sorts. It's the least I can do."

"Well, why don't you name her after your mother?" The usually silent, dark cowboy asked. Louise gave him a bemused glance and Wyatt grimaced slightly; unnoticeable to most.

"Because my mother's name is Sadie-Lou and she always said that she never wanted anyone named after her. There was no greater punishment than that, she told me."

"Ah, I see." Luke was incapable of holding his smile down and the corners of his mouth twitched. Dallas had to bring a hand up to his mouth to cover a slightly suspicious cough.

"So…Samantha it is!" The older cowboy cried throwing his hands in the air. His brown eyes twinkled merrily and his smile was contagious. So was his noise however, as baby Samantha began to wail at the sudden interruption in her sleep. Dallas, immediately chagrined, spread his weathered fingers over his mouth, but it was too late. Jake clapped both hands over his ears to spare himself from the high-pitched squeals. Wishing the three Forsters more congratulations, the Ely's stepped lightly out of the room. Dallas followed suit and Wyatt stood, after giving his wife and new daughter kisses on their cheeks, to follow. He closed the door softly behind him and beamed at the others.

"I guess we should let them get their rest. They both need it." He admitted. The others agreed and the entire group filed down the wooden staircase. Arriving at the bottom, Dallas excused himself and slipped out the back door towards the small bunkhouse the ranch hands shared. On his way to the tiny house he would stop at the barn and inform Ross, who was feeding the horses and was generally uncomfortable around babies, of the good news. Maxine hugged Wyatt and patted his should gently.

"Now you just take good care of those two tonight. I'll be back tomorrow."

"It probably already is tomorrow, but I sure will. Thanks for all you help tonight." Wyatt laughed. Maxine shook off his appreciation with a shrug.

"Of course you're welcome. Let me know if you need me for any mid-wifing duties again." She remarked, smiling.

"One's enough for now thanks."

"Sam's gonna play with me?"

"Not now, Jake, maybe when she's older. Although, little girls don't really play with little boys so well. They're fragile, y'see." Wyatt crouched down to Jake's level. Maxine huffed and Luke laughed as Jake trotted off out the door to follow Dallas.

"We're not fragile," she insisted, "and I'm sure those two will get along just famously."

"Of course, you're not fragile." Wyatt rushed, trying to remove the proverbial foot from his large mouth. "But my little Sam…well, she'll probably be…fragile. Jake, he's a bit rough." He added lamely.

"They'll be fine." Maxine corrected

"Probably end up gettin' married." Luke added and Maxine's eyes suddenly lit up. The notion struck Wyatt as a rather good idea. Jake was going to be a good kid; you could tell already. His parents knew how to raise good boys, so his daughter would always be well-protected and taken care of if anything were to happen to Louise and himself…._hmmm, yes it could be rather advantageous,_ Wyatt mused. Luke tilted his head slightly and examined the new father.

"What are you thinkin', Wyatt?"

"Huh, what?"

"You got that look on your face like you do when you got a plan. It makes me all nervous." The darker cowboy remarked smirking at his friend as his wife swatted his arm playfully.

"Nah, I mean, yeah, I was thinking….actually, I was thinking that might be a good idea. For them to get married, that is. Samantha'll be safe, no matter what, with Jake. I'm sure of that and…."

"I thought arranged marriages went out of style quite a few years back?" Maxine questioned.

"Well, yes," Wyatt admitted, "but it would be advantageous in other ways as well. Our ranches, our finances and cattle operations would be joined; it's a safe investment. Financial security is important as well, you know."

"Of course it is! But do you hear yourself? What if they don't want to get married? What if…what if Sam fell in love with someone else…like Quinn? Would you really force her to marry Jake?" The short, blonde woman argued back passionately. She wasn't opposed to the idea of their children tying the knot, but an arranged marriage for 'financial security?' That was going too far. Luke stayed silent beside her.

"Well, if she married any of your boys it would be the same thing. Jake is more her age, s'all. If she decided she really loved someone else, well, I'm sure we could arrange something else. But if they spend all their time together and if we guide their thoughts towards a romance with each other…."

"Wyatt Cody Forster! I can't believe you would be so underhanded…." Maxine expressed her disbelief, then her features smoothed into a scheming smile. "But I kind of like it. As long as nobody is being forced here." Luke just shook his head.

"Of course not," Wyatt assured her, "they'll fall in love all on their own. With just a little help from us."

"Are you planning on telling Louise you already have the future planned out for your daughter?" Luke spoke up for the first time. Wyatt waved the thought away with his hand.

"Of course! Just not right now. And don't you two go saying anything to anybody, y'hear?"

The married couple nodded and Wyatt looked appeased. It was a calming thought to know that his daughter would end up with a good boy and have a bright future. Uncertainty was unsettling: now he could be relaxed in letting her grow up. Ah yes, it was a good plan indeed.

A dark thought struck him as he bid the Ely's farewell and closed the door behind them. What if Sam didn't want to marry Jake? If she was even half as stubborn as Wyatt himself, she would want to do things her own way. Did he have the heart to force her to marry the boy? If it was for her own good…Wyatt pushed the thoughts from his mind. Why, she was only an hour old! He wouldn't have to worry about such things for quite a while: not until she was 16 or 17; marrying age.

With a nod of reassurance to himself, Wyatt bounded up the stairs to rejoin his wife and daughter.


	5. Jessie James

Hey guys! Here I am again! I hope you guys like it. I'v had a request to skip ahead a few years, unfortunately I already have many of my chapters written out and my story hasn't taken that direction yet! We still have some important stuff to get through! Sorry about that...I know you guys want some good 'ole Sake action, but my story is about more than that! :) That's just a part of it. Don't worry, we'll get there. Anyways...enjoy!

Once again, a great thanks to Katanagirl (who is an awesome Beta!) and to God'sRider who helped me with ideas!

And all characters are not mine...they are Terri Farley's.

* * *

Chapter 4

_Darton, Nevada_

_1877_

"I'm hungry, Mommy!" The five-year-old's demand came quick and fierce. Despite her lack of height and physical stature, Samantha Forster looked fearsome with her auburn eyebrows lowered and her tiny mouth puckered into a scowl.

Louise quickly gathered up her feisty daughter and carried her from the bright, blistering, sunny yard into the cooler interior of their house. Sam wriggled in protest and whined to be put down until her mother set her on her own two feet and the tiny girl skipped along beside the brunette woman, hand-in-hand. Louise glanced down and smiled as she observed her daughter for the millionth time. She couldn't seem to get enough of being a mother and having her own little girl…why, it felt like a miracle! She lovingly tousled her daughter's auburn locks and tweaked the miniature up-turned nose with her free hand. Hearing Sam's musical laughter ring out amidst the rock and sand of the Nevadan desert filled her mother's heart with joy and she laughed along with the youngest Forster. The daisy chain Sam had spent much of the afternoon making was beginning to wilt in the heat, the bright white of the petals waning to a dull brown as the yellow pollen faded, but the little girl lovingly clutched it to her chest. Louise smiled as she thought of the girl's fascination with the flower, the same fascination she had.

_There is a flower within my heart, _

_Daisy, Daisy…_

Together they skipped into the kitchen to find something to satisfy the girl's hunger. Sam plopped herself into a chair as Louise turned to the bread box. She scooped some preservatives that she had made from the icebox and a pewter knife from the cutlery drawer before sitting down beside her energetic daughter. As they munched in companionable silence, Louise gazed around the familiar room: she had lived here for six and a half years. It was comfortable and roomy, but nothing like what she had been used to. She shook her head as she remembered how useless she had once been: now she could make jam, bread, and other edible food as well as clean a house and care for a family. Sure, it had been hard, but it was worth it. The old, heirloom grandfather clock chimed ten and she suddenly wondered how her husband was faring. He was used to the hard, early work required of a rancher and was often gone for a day or two checking over their large amount of land and huge head of cattle or helping the neighbours, but each time she worried about him.

Thinking of the neighbours steered her thoughts in another direction. Eight-year old Jake would be dropped off by his mother soon at River Bend so his mother, Maxine, could go to town and cook and clean for sweet, old Mrs. Millan; a widow who lived by herself and often required assistance. Her sight and hearing were failing her in her old age and arthritis was seizing up her joints. Maxine Ely would fashion a mixture of willow bark and take it to the poor widow: then she would clean and bake for her. Unfortunately for Maxine, Jake was too energetic to sit still for the hours that she aided Mrs. Millan so the small, blonde woman would drop off her son at River Bend almost every day. The children played well together and despite Jake acting like the younger girl was an annoyance, the adults knew he adored her and enjoyed being her tutor and mentor.

Louise laughed softly at the thought of the two together. Jake had taken to calling the young girl 'Brat,' and ordering her around like his servant. And Wyatt wanted the two of them to marry? The woman shook her auburn head and smiled at the thought. Perhaps they would make a good pair; they already acted like a married couple at eight and five. Louise knew Wyatt just wanted a secure future for his daughter and that he believed they wouldn't even have to be told about the engagement; they would fall in love by themselves and marry without any persuasion from their parents. Louise had to admit it was a good possibility.

The clip-clop of shod hooves and the squeaking of a well-used wagon drew the young brunette out of her reverie. Sam had also paused her eating and her small head was cocked towards the door, bread-crumbs and jam smeared all over her mouth. It took only a few minutes before her face lit up and she dropped her almost-finished snack in excitement.

"Jake?" The word held an unmistakable excitement.

"Yes, my little Daisy," Louise stood from the kitchen table and wiped her hands on the front of her apron, "Jake's here."

The little girl needed no other incentive and immediately dashed out of the door, leaving such a trail of bread-crumbs behind her that even Hansel and Gretel could not get lost. Louise left the mess for later and followed her ecstatic child, quickly catching up: an easy feat, considering the tiny girl's little legs. The mother smiled and waved to her petite, blonde friend who waved back with one hand, while holding the reins with the other.

Louise and Sam crossed the dusty yard and managed to reach the Ely's as Maxine was tying the two horses to the hitching rail. Her floral print gingham dress was slightly wrinkled and worn from use as was the periwinkle blue bonnet Louise had bought her from San Francisco many years ago. Jake was standing by the two gleaming bays and stroking one of the massive shoulders that was at his height. The tiny girl launched herself at the older boy who pretended to absolutely horrified that another person (besides his mother, of course) had their arms around him. Sam was not dismayed by Jake's lack of affection and instead grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the round pen to admire the horses milling about inside.

The two women laughed quietly together so not to disrupt the children playing or make Jake feel uncomfortable.

"Oh yes," Maxine chuckled, "now he acts like she's a hindrance. But whenever we can't come over, he can't stop nattering to me about when we're comin' back here and that he needed to tell Sam something. I mean, she's five! What could be of such importance that she would even care? And," she giggled like a schoolgirl, hiding her mouth with a hand, "he even calls her _his_ Sam. Can you believe that?" She burst into outright laughter before calming down. "It's _so_ gosh, darn, cute, Lou."

Louise covered her laugh with her hand and straightened her bonnet to hide her mirth. "Wyatt's right; they will make a perfect married couple."

"Oh gracious, yes. What does Grace think of it?"

"She's quite joyous about the idea and hopes that she will be able to seem them marry."

"Does Wyatt have a date set in mind?" Maxine asked, her eyes dancing merrily.

"Land sake's, Maxine! Of course not!" Louise laughed attracting the attention of the two children who seemed to be on the verge of another argument. Louise quickly lowered her voice and glanced over at their progeny before turning back to her golden-haired friend. "I'm sure he'll forget about this silly little idea before she's six."

"He could be right though…" Maxine trailed off, one blonde eyebrow raised comically.

"About what?"

"It would be best for them to marry. Sam would be safe. Besides, they're already such good friends. If they grow up together and spend all of their time together then it's just a matter of ti…"

"Maxine Ely," Louise propped her arms onto her hips and glared at her friend, "you sound just like Wyatt. It's going to be their decision and that's final."

Maxine waved her hand, brushing off Louise's concern and irritation.

"Well of course it's going to be their decision. That's what I'm gettin' at, you silly goose." She laughed light-heartedly and mirrored her good friend's stance. Louise immediately dropped her arms and flushed slightly; embarrassed that she had overreacted.

"I'm sorry, Maxine." She apologized, smiling sheepishly. "It's just that Wyatt is always talking about this and it does get so wearisome." She rolled her blue eyes, dramatically.

"Of course, of course, my dear. Think nothing of it. We won't talk of it again." Maxine reassured the brunette. "But I should go to Mrs. Millan's now, or she'll worry I'm not comin'! Thanks again for takin' care of my boy."

She climbed into her buckboard and waved to her son and friend before pushing the horses into a light canter to make up for her tardiness. Louise turned to the young boy and girl who were now fully involved in a heated dispute about who was going to feed Traveller, a tiny black mare, the last handful of oats. The young mother quickly moved to break up the argument and ushered both of the kids inside to finish the afternoon snack.

"It's my turn to be Jesse James!" Sam whined, pulling on the wooden "gun" shaped stick. "You're older anyways. _You_ should be Frank."

"Yeah, well, you're a girl so you shouldn't even be playin' this." Jake let his irritation be known as he gave a vicious yank on the stick, knocking Sam down. She sat up angrily, her faded blue floral, cotton dress dusty from the ground and her black shoes scuffed. Blue eyes flashing she tackled the eight-year old boy, knocking him back onto the ground. They fought for a couple of moments until the distinct sound of a cracking stick brought them to their senses. They both rolled to a sitting position and Jake picked up the "gun" stick that was now being held together by a small, dangling piece of bark.

"Look what you did." He brandished the broken wood in front of they younger girls face, angrily.

"What _I_ did?" She cried. "It was your fault! _You_ snatched! I don't want to play with you anymore, Jacob Ely." She rose from the ground haughtily and began to stalk away.

"Play with me? Ha! I was doing your parent's a favour by keeping you busy! I don't even like you!" Jake spat at her retreating back.

His harsh words stopped the younger girl short. She whipped around and Jake saw her lower lip wobble slightly. She swallowed and felt her throat go tight. Tears made her vision blur before one single drop trailed down her face, leaving a mark of white on her dusty skin. Her expression was heartbroken and Jake felt regret grab at his heart. He was standing to apologize when the young red-head turned and fled the area of playa where they had made their own 'bandit hideout:' a charming structure fashioned together at the base of the only tree around and fleshed out with larger sticks and branches. Pieces of scrap rawhide held the branches together. It was quite a good piece of work: it held together and actually fit both of them, albeit a bit tightly.

Jake ran after the tiny girl and quickly caught up to her. She had such short legs; it was easy. Not to mention, he was the fastest one in Darton. He acknowledged his title with pride; 'Bia'isa,' other words known as 'wolf.' His grandfather had given him that name when he had last visited; two years ago. Jake had raced his brothers and won, despite the age differences and so MacArthur Ely, a Shoshone elder, had named him thus. Jake knew he was even the fastest at school; he was exceptionally proud of this fact.

He grabbed her arm gently and spun her around, both panting for air. Her face was covered with tear tracks and muddy water dripped from her chin.

"I'm sorry, Brat. I didn't mean it! Honest, I didn't." His apology was heartfelt, but his usage of that horrific nickname made Sam even madder. Her tanned, little face turned red and she balled up a fist. The punch caught Jake off guard, but since Sam was so tiny, it really did nothing, but shock him. His chin may have moved an inch. His temper, however, flared up too.

"Hey, I was tryin' to be nice and you hit me for it? What's that all about?"

"Don't call me 'Brat!'" She screamed at him, waving her fist in his face. He pushed it aside.

"I didn't mean to." He said again. "It just came out, alright? Calm down, anyways."

Sam's lip stopped its wobbling and she sniffed, wiping an arm across her eyes, leaving a trace of salty tears and mud on her cotton dress.

"Fine." It came out quietly and Jake felt a sense of relief. Sam was a small; gentle, child, but she had a quick temper (a product of her red hair? He wondered) and a feisty nature. He was going to have to teach her how to punch though.

They turned to return to the house, not even a quarter of a mile away, and walked together in silence. They hadn't walked but a few steps when Sam slipped her delicately boned hand into Jake's larger, darker one. He looked at her in surprise, but her head was down as she studied the rocks and dirt under her black boots. Had they been in town or in sight of any other human being, Jake would have snatched his hand back as if he'd been burnt. But for now, he let her hold his hand. _She needs the comfort_, he told himself. Besides; she was _his_ Sam. It was his job to comfort and protect her. A smile stole onto his features and he tightened his hand around hers. Of course, as soon as they came near the ranch house, he dropped her hand and wiped it against his leg, destroying any evidence that he had held the little girls fingers in his own. Sam didn't seem to mind and together they entered into the interior of the house.

The rest of the afternoon was peaceful as the two children played together or listened to Louise read stories about brave generals and daring outlaws. The sun was sinking in the west when there came the clip-clop of shod hooves cantering down the dusty lane. Maxine pulled her hands from the dirty dish water and wiped them on her smudged apron. Jake and Sam stayed where they were on the floor playing with a wooden tractor and horse Dallas had whittled.

Louise hurried out the door and darted to her husband's side when she saw Wyatt, Dallas and Ross dismounting in the front yard. Smiling, she embraced her tall, weathered cowboy husband. The other two men led their horses away; Dallas grabbed Wyatt's Buckskin, Smoke, by the halter and pulled his own horse Banjo along towards the round pen. Dallas smiled at the couple as he and the red-headed giant marched the horses to the corral. His almost completely grey hair was covered by his tan Stetson. Wyatt returned his petite wife's embrace, leaning down to wrap his long arms around her waist.

"Any problems?" Louise gazed up at her husband's dark face.

"Nah, it was all good. Found most of the herd in good time. Just a few stragglers gave us the slip makin' us piddle away."

Together the couple walked towards their wooden, two-story house, Wyatt's arm hooked around his wife's shoulders. The sound of laughing met their ears as they neared the front porch and Wyatt tilted his head in confusion.

"Jake here?"

Louise nodded, "Yes, Maxine should be here soon to pick him up. He and Sam have been playing pretty well together all afternoon."

Louise felt more than saw the sly grin spread over her husband's tanned face.

"Now, Wyatt. No more of your matchmaking schemes today, y'hear? Most kids get along just fine."

Wyatt held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

"I didn't say anything, now did I?"

Louise pulled away, shot him a mock glare and marched into the house ahead of the tall cowboy. Wyatt just laughed and followed after his petite wife.

The sun was just sinking into the distant mountains, turning the entire sky into a myriad of purples and pinks when the sounds of a wagon pulling up the lane alerted Louise to Maxine's arrival. The young mother set down her sewing and moved to the settee where young Jake sat reading a dime novel while acting as a pillow for the young five-year old who was sleeping soundly against his shoulder.

"Here, Jake," Louise gently eased her child from the older boy's arm and rested her head on one of the embroidered throw pillows instead. Jake eased out of the position silently, still grasping his dime novel, _The Tale of Jesse James_, in his hand. Taking his other hand, she led the quiet boy out of the house, closing the door quietly behind her so as not to wake the sleeping child inside. Maxine's buckboard reached the house as the two were descending the front stairs and Jake jogged over to his blond mother. The tiny woman hugged her son and helped him climb the wagon before turning to Louise.

"Thanks again, Lou." She smiled gratefully at her friend.

Louise waved away her gratitude with her hand, "Not a problem, Maxine. He was a perfect little gentlemen, again, and Sam loves having him here."

Jake smiled at her words and looked proudly at his mother as if to say, S_ee, Mom? Told you I'd be good_. Maxine gave a chuckle and eased closer to the other woman, leaning her head towards her.

"And he loves coming here and seeing Sam." She murmured quietly so Jake wouldn't hear. She gave Louise a hug and boarded the wagon, picking up the reins. Snapping them the buckboard lurched forward as the two bays started to turn back home. Louise watched till the wagon was about halfway down the lane before she turned away. She had almost reached the faded wooden porch when a call from Maxine turned her head. Louise jogged towards the Ely wagon as Maxine was fishing out what looked like a letter from the pocket of her faded dress. She bent down to hand it to Louise with a small apologetic smile.

"Forgot to give you this letter."

"Thanks." Louise waved for the last time and headed back inside, ripping open her letter. She noticed the return address of her family and excitedly unfolded the crisp, white paper.

_Dear Lou,_ it started.

_I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health. How are you? How are Wyatt and Samantha? It is hard to believe she is already five years old! How she must have grown. We very much wish to see you again soon, dear sister. It has been a year at least since you last came to visit. Perhaps your dear husband and daughter would not mind too much if you came for a couple weeks to San Francisco to see me? It has been much too long since we have spent time, just you and I. Mother and Father are away on business, you see, and so I have the house to myself. It is so lonely and big and I very much long to see you again. We could go riding in the park or shopping in some of the new mercantiles. They just received some of the newest fashions from London and Paris! Its muslin this year!_

_I do so hope you can come. I would love to see you!_

_Hoping to hear from you soon,_

_Your loving sister,_

_Susan_

Ecstatic, Louise rushed into the house to find Wyatt. She was certain they had enough money for her to go to San Francisco and visit her sister. The coach wouldn't be too expensive for them and she would be back before too long. Besides, she needed a good visit with her sister. It had been much too long.

"Wyatt!" She called, running into their ranch house and facing their large wooden steps. "Wyatt!"

Her tall husband suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase still washing his face with a filthy, soaked washcloth. His brown hair sat mussed on his head, flattened from his Stetson, with a few strands at the front sticking up from the water. It was almost a comical sight.

"What's wrong, Sweetie?"

"Oh nothing's wrong!" She assured him quickly. "I received a letter from Suzie today!"

"Oh?" He questioned, descending the stairs to read the letter over his wife's shoulders. "What does she say? Are they ok?"

Louise waved his concern away with a hand. "Oh yes, of course, dear. She wants me to come visit." She looked up, smiling gleefully. He grinned crookedly at her pleased expression and gave a slight nod.

"Don't see nothin' wrong with that. Sam and me'll do just fine here, I'm sure."

Louise jumped up and grabbed her husband in a fierce hug, thanking him profusely. My, the packing she would need to do! A couple weeks in San Francisco with her sister was just what she needed….and after a couple of weeks she would be right back home again.

_What a grand life I have,_ she thought to herself, smiling at her cowboy husband. _Nothing could go wrong….._


	6. Tears of Pain

Hello again! Its me...sorry for taking so long...being a 3rd year in University sucks...like really sucks...anways, just warning: This chapter is sad. At least I think so; Katana said it was so I'm trustin' her on that one! :) I'm also changing the rating to T for a bit of graphic violence. Nothing bad. I'm just cautious.

Raisin' Cain = Loud, noisy or boisterous.

Peacemaker = A Colt revolver.

Pig Trail = Small side roads.

Pied = A paint horse.

Dainah (t-ay-n-ah) = 'Man' in Shoshone.

Also, stupid FF keeps removing page breaks on me (ticks me off!) so just know, its not my fault if it happens again. I'm trying!

Thanks again to Katanagirl for her faithful Betaing! Don't know what I'd do without her...:) Thanks also to all my reviewers; its nice to know when someone appreciates my work!

* * *

Chapter 5

_Darton__, Nevada_

_1877_

Louise boarded the stage coach for San Francisco two weeks later, excited and nervous to travel by herself. She waved farewell to her husband and the small girl in his arms. Sam had been devastated when Louise had told her she was going to see Aunt Susan all by herself. Her tears had almost made the young mother change her mind and bring her five, almost six-year-old, along before Wyatt's practicality stepped in.

"You need to have fun and some relaxing alone time with your sister." He had reasoned, stressing the 'alone time.' She had bitten her lip and finally agreed with him much to her daughter's distress.

However, when Louise had mentioned that there were few, if any, horses to ride in San Francisco, the little girl had gotten a stunned look on her face and quickly agreed that she shouldn't go, but should stay in Darton and look after her father.

The young red-head's adoration of horses, any horse; young or old, was fiery at best. She wanted to ride any animal with four legs, including their dog, Blaze (who had been tacked up and was almost sentenced to the same fate as a horse until Wyatt walked in.) Her favourite mount was her father's dun stallion, Smoke: she would convince Wyatt to take her on the tall horse whenever he had a free moment and they would ride over the range. Louise, who still hadn't gotten over her fear of horses, would watch proudly and wait for them at home.

Now, the young brunette watched her family disappear in the distance; their figures fading into the hazy shimmer of heat that was constant in the desert. She sat back in the coach and smiled as the buggy headed west; back towards her old home. Excitement rose in her like a bubble and she barely squelched it down. The poor old couple seated across from her must have surely thought she had taken leave of her senses; smiling for no reason. The thought made her giggle and she quickly covered it with a cough so they wouldn't have any worse opinion of her than they already had. Instead, she smiled at them and introduced herself.

"Good afternoon, I'm Louise Forster."

"Well, hello dear." The older woman replied, smiling graciously. Her greying brown hair was pulled back into a loose chignon and her high-collared traveling suit was a deep burgundy, coated only slightly with dust. A small brooch sat on her neck, a silhouette of a woman, perhaps her, engrained in ivory on it. She wore an elegant hat, instead of the traditional bonnet, giving Louise the impression that perhaps she was a wealthy lady. The matching burgundy toque hat sat stiffly on her bun, a dark blue peacock feather standing straight up, its tip bent slightly as it brushed the low top of the coach. She was probably in her early 50's with a plump figure and roundish features. Laugh lines marred her mouth and crows feet danced out from her green eyes. Her thin lips were painted red, but it seemed to be the only makeup she wore. Louise brushed a hand at her own powdered face, wondering what she would look like with lipstick and hoping her own, blue gingham dress wasn't too dirty or worn. She straightened her faded blue bonnet over her auburn hair wishing she was wearing some brand spanking new muslin. She tried not to sigh as she thought about how she had been the most fashionable young woman in San Francisco back when she was young.

"I'm Adelaide Smithman and this is my husband, Mr. John Smithman." She motioned to the man beside her: her accent was clipped and crisp; perhaps English?

Mr. John Smithman nodded cordially at Louise, but stayed silent. He gazed out of the window of the coach, his hands clasped around the handle of his velvet travel bag. His black plug hat looked out of place in the Nevadan desert as did his fancy black jacket and silver waistcoat. _Must be a banker or clerk,_ Louise pondered. A gold chain shone from his breast pocket and a single spectacle dangled into his other pocket. His black shoes, peeking out from the stiff hem of his pants, shone. He, however, would not have been able to see his shoes if he tried. His stomach extended almost to his knees; his face was rather large and round. His hair, although covered by his plug hat, was obviously an odd mix of red and grey, judging from the mutton chops by his ears. But the most remarkable aspect about him was his eyes: one was bright emerald green where as the other was a muddy brown. Louise quickly averted her eyes so he wouldn't catch her staring.

"And why are you going to San Francisco, my dear? If I may be so bold to ask such a thing?" Adelaide leaned forward slightly in her seat, pulling a small, black fan from her bag and fanning herself with it to relieve the desert heat.

"Oh, of course you may." Louise reassured her. "I'm going to see my sister. You see, I used to live there."

"Really? That's just wonderful. Why, Mr. Smithman and I are on vacation. We're going to see the ocean. Mr. Smithman just loves the ocean. Don't you, Dear?" She turned to pat her husband's bulbous knee. He just grunted, refusing to avert his eyes from the window. Adelaide laughed; it was a breathy, high laugh. Louise smiled politely and wondered at John Smithman's rudeness.

When it seemed as if Adelaide had finished speaking to her she reached to her carpet bag and pulled out her diary.

Wyatt always laughed at her diary, telling her it was childish, but when she quickly retaliated with tears he would immediately shut up. In truth, she also believed it was childish, but to her, it was her only hold on a wonderful childhood and despite a wonderful life now, it was a way to relieve some of her stress. She wrote down everything she noticed, thought and felt.

Now, she quickly scratched down a quick description about her neighbours, especially Mr. Smithman's eyes. As soon as she had done this, she began thinking about her daughter for some odd reason. She missed her sweet, little Daisy-girl: it felt odd for there to be no little hand grabbing at hers or Sam's soft little voice asking her something; _why, Mommy, why?_ And Wyatt…how she missed her husband already! Even though they'd only been traveling for a few hours, it already seemed like days. Smiling, she wrote down her emotions, anxious to get to San Francisco and then back home again.

* * *

Wyatt received the telegram from Susan the next day:

STAGE COACH TO SAN FRANCISCO NEVER ARRIVED STOP HAVE SENT OUT SEARCH PARTY STOP SEND SHERIFF ALONG ROUTE FROM DARTON STOP

His heart stopped and it seemed time stood still for a moment. Fear washed over him; he felt cold and hot all at the same time. Wasting no time, he dropped the paper and raced from the post office, slamming the screen door behind him.

Surprised, Miss Emma Fullerton glanced up at the sound, almost dropping the mail she had been sorting. She noticed the tall cowboy running down the dusty main road towards the sheriff's office as if the hounds of hell were chasing him. Emma peeked over her tall wooden counter and noticed the telegram she had held for him, open and crumpled on the floor. She bent down to retrieve it in order that she could return it to him, but decided to see what the fuss was about. No one would ever know she'd read it and if he hadn't wanted to keep it a secret, why hadn't he taken it? She quickly flattened it out against her palm and scanned over the words. She gasped: her hand flying to her mouth in surprise and she ran to the window to notice that Mr. Forster was already inside Sheriff Ballard's office. She folded the dreadful piece of paper and placed it on a shelf under her counter, almost as if in a trance.

_Please, God,_ she pleaded, _please let Louise be alright._

* * *

"What now?" Sheriff Heck Ballard stood up from his chair as he heard the front door to his office slam open and then closed again. He didn't even make it into the front room before Wyatt Forster came barrelling through the door almost bowling him over.

"Heck!" He shouted. "Heck!"

"I'm right here, idjit! What's wrong with you? Come in here, raisin' Cain…" Ballard had one hand over the ear closest to the distraught cowboy and the other stretched out as if to grab the other cowboy's jacket. He let it drop as soon as he saw the expression on the taller, younger man's face.

"What's wrong, Forster?" He grasped the cowboy by the arm and led him into the inner sanctum of his office when he saw that the man was too overcome to speak and was gasping for breath. "Slow down, amigo, take your time."

"Stage…Loui…lost." Wyatt gasped between breaths. Ballard had no idea what he was jabbering on about and quickly reached for a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured just enough of the fiery liquid to give the man some strength, but not enough to floor him. He passed it to the other man, noticing the hand that took the glass from him was not quite steady. Wyatt gulped it down and winced, but he felt his panic subside slightly and his voice returned to him.

"Alright, now talk to me." Ballard took the glass from him and set it back on his desk before setting himself on the corner of it facing Forster.

Wyatt rubbed his tanned face with his hands in a desperate move before facing his friend. "I got a telegram from Susan this morning. She said…she said the stage never arrived in San Francisco. They've sent out a search party, but the sheriff there wants us to start from this end. Heck…I…" He couldn't finish his sentence and quickly looked back down at his dusty, worn leather boots.

Ballard closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. This was not the news he had wanted to hear. Louise Forster was loved by all, save the women who envied her beauty. Her sweetness, gracefulness and loving kindness drew the town around her like bees to honey. When she and her daughter came into town, everyone seemed to perk up. He knew that, personally, a smile from the pair would brighten anyone's day. He couldn't bear the thought that the woman was lying out in the desert injured, or worse, dead.

"Let's get started then." Ballard rose from the desk and grabbed his gun belt, slipping it around his waist. The holster was empty before he unlocked one of the drawers and slipped out his Colt revolver. He glanced at the cowboy who still sat in the chair, mournfully.

"You have a Peacemaker, Forster?"

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt glanced up and nodded. "Yup, always wear it." He motioned to the silver, gleaming piece strung along his hips.

Ballard nodded. "Let's get going then. We'll round up as many men as we can find along the way then we'll travel along the main road that the coach takes. If we don't find nothin' by the time we reach up with the San Franciscan sheriff and his posse we'll start takin' the pig trails. Capiche?"

With barely a nod, Wyatt rose from the chair and started towards the door with Sheriff Ballard on his heels and a prayer in his heart.

* * *

"Well, there it is." Ballard spoke low under his breath, his mouth barely moving under his black, drooping, moustache. He tilted his tan Stetson down so that it shaded it his face and then glanced towards Wyatt who was beside him seated on his buckskin stallion, Smoke. Ballard's own mount, a pied gelding named Joker who was almost as old as he was, (a good solid 28), shifted uncomfortably. He saw Luke Ely, on Wyatt's other side, also look at the silent rancher who simply stared at the overturned shell of the stage coach.

It was lying on its side in a small gulley that ran parallel to the road. Rocks littered the valley side; it must have been a bumpy ride. They were still about a mile from the actual sight and so they could not see inside, but the body of the driver was visible. Buzzards were sitting on his chest and hobbling around his remains, flapping their wings and crying out with loud, harsh voices. Ballard was glad they couldn't see his face from here; he knew that those darned birds went for the eyes first and the worst thing about this job was seeing the empty eye sockets staring up at him accusingly. He heard a _whoosh_ sound of a breath being released from his right and noticed Wyatt had started Smoke forward. Quickly he pulled Joker in front of him.

"Wyatt, I think you should stay here." He didn't beat around the bush. The other man frowned at him and started to shake his head.

"Wyatt, listen," Ballard started to explain, "we don't know what we're…what we're going to find." He looked down and ran his tongue over his chapped and dry lips. "I think maybe you should stay here for now and then we can call you down if everything's…alright." His slow drawl came even slower as he tried to find the right words to say.

A shuddery breath came from Wyatt, but he nodded and Ballard felt relieved. He motioned to Luke, Jed Kenworthy, Horace Sterling, Ross Hillings and the other three to follow him. The trip to the coach, with its horrible scene coming closer and closer, was one of the worst trips Ballard had ever made. With every step, his heart sank lower and lower in his chest until they finally reached the grisly sight and he was staring into the empty sockets of a dead man. He dismounted and looked up at his companions. They stayed mounted and Ballard wiped his hand across his face. The temperature was beyond hot and sweat was freely dripping down his browned, leathery face. He took his hat off and wiped his forehead with the red, chequered bandana around his neck. His black hair gleamed in the sun before he replaced the cowboy hat.

_Alright,_ he told himself, _stop stalling. Get to it._

With minimal effort he managed to climb to the top of the tipped stage and pulled the mangled door off its hinges. He immediately wished he hadn't and felt an odd sting behind his eyes.

The body of Louise Forster, petite and small, looked like a broken doll, with her arms splayed at awkward angles above her head, her legs crumpled together and blood covering her face and arms.

It looked like she had broken her neck.

He looked up at the still-mounted men and gave his head a slight shake. Heck Ballard prided himself on never crying, but now he felt the unfamiliar feeling of tears welling up in his eyes. Wyatt's dark figure in the distance caught his eye and immediately he wondered what he was going to tell the man. He heard hoof beats approaching from the other direction and jumped from the stage coach as he noticed another group approaching.

As they slowed their sweating, panting horses, Ballard noticed a star on one of the men's chest. He was middle-aged; a black Stetson covered his red hair: bright, intelligent blue eyes and white teeth shone from a darkly tanned face. His dark brown leather jacket was styled much like Ballard's; long, durable, with fringe bordering the arms and bottom to ease the rain off. The man swung off his dun Quarter horse with practiced ease and with bowed legs, moved to where Ballard was standing. Ballard quickly swiped a gloved hand across his eyes.

"Sheriff Arthur Bunrick." He held out a hand which Ballard gripped tightly.

"Sheriff Heck Ballard." Heck returned.

"Can you tell what happened yet?" Bunrick walked around the stage coach, stopping often to look at various signs, but touching nothing.

"Not yet. Just got here."

Bunrick looked up, his front teeth worrying his bottom lip.

"Survivors?"

Ballard shook his head slightly and Bunrick sighed. Ballard glanced back at Wyatt, still in the distance, and was happy to see he hadn't moved forward yet, despite what had to have been great curiosity and a horrible sense of foreboding. Ballard figured that Wyatt already knew his wife was dead since they had not pulled her out of the coach.

"There's some tracks a ways back there," Ballard motioned behind them, "looks like antelope. Must've swerved or the horses spooked."

Bunrick nodded, but his brow was creased. "But why did it tip? They must have been chugging along at a mighty speed. I guess maybe the rocks caught the wheels…"

Ballard shrugged and wiped an arm across his still stinging eyes, angry at himself for showing weakness in front of another sheriff. Bunrick glanced up.

"You alright?"

"Yup." Ballard answered, knowing he was lying. "Just…one of them passengers is a friend…her husband's up there." He motioned to Wyatt's form in the distance.

"Ahh, I'm sorry then." Bunrick sympathized. "I know it's hard."

In silence, they surveyed the damage while the mounted men behind them did the same. Finally Bunrick broke the silence.

"All four dead?" His eyes stayed fixed to the coach. Ballard glanced at him, brow furrowed.

"Four? Three, you mean?"

Bunrick now looked at Ballard with confusion. He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his leather jacket pocket and scanned it, moving his finger down the lines.

"No…four. The manifest here says three passengers boarded the coach…with the driver, that's four."

Ballard grabbed the manifest that Bunrick was clutching and scanned down the list. His eyes widened as he realized the other sheriff was right. He felt his stomach curl when he saw Louise's name, then under that was two more names: Mr. John Smithman and Mrs. Adelaide Smithman. The driver had been Carl Hutter; a man of 42 who had driven the coach for 12 years with no problems.

Now he lay beside his coach, dead…with no eyes.

Ballard frowned and passed the manifest back to Bunrick before climbing back onto the stage and peering into the dark interior. He could see Louise on the left side and a grey-haired woman on the right. She looked like she had also broken her neck; her burgundy dress gave the appearance of there being more blood than there probably actually was; her small, elegant hat lay halfway over her mangled face.

And yet…Ballard glanced at the women again. Both had broken necks. It seemed highly improbable that both women could have died from that and simply from tipping over. There was no sign of Mr. John Smithman; which could mean two things: he'd survived, climbed from the wreckage and was now dragging himself across the desert looking for help or he'd been thrown from the coach as it flew across the rough, dirt road and had been dragged away by coyotes, leaving no trace of him behind.

He jumped down and noticed that all the mounted men had also dismounted and were now standing in a circle around Bunrick. They were brainstorming all possibilities of what might have happened. They glanced at him as he slid through the group to stand by Bunrick.

"No sign of Mr. Smithman."

They all looked at him in surprise.

"You sure?" Bunrick asked.

"Yup. Only two, Mrs. Smithman and…and Louise."

The men from his posse hung their heads and some looked back at the still shape of Wyatt who looked as if he had dismounted and was standing by the head of his mount.

"One of us should tell him." Jed said quietly. Horace Sterling nodded his agreement and most of the group turned to look at Luke Ely who made no motions or sounds. It was obvious everyone wanted him to break the horrible news and it made sense; he was Wyatt's closest friend. Without warning, the tall, dark Shoshone man turned and swung up onto his black stallion, Dainah. He loped towards the unknowing cowboy and there was silence in the group. They watched as he reached the other man, dismounted and approached his friend. It was too far to hear what he said, too far to even see if he had said anything before he grabbed the younger man in a hug. It was heartbreaking because even from this distance, the cowboys could tell Wyatt was sobbing into his friend's shoulder. It was horrifying to have to watch him suffer.

"It just don't make no sense." Ballard muttered. Everyone turned their attention to him again.

"What do you mean?" Horace asked.

"Well," Ballard hesitated, "both women died, what it looks like, from broken necks. How could that happen? And not too mention our missing passenger. How could he disappear without so much as a track? You've all been around the coach. There are no footprints, no scuffle marks, not even a coyote print!"

"What are you saying, Ballard?" Bunrick questioned, tilting his head to the side, arms crossed.

"It looks too clean…" Ballard started.

"…like somebody cleaned up." Bunrick finished for him.

"Yes! Look at the dirt around the coach…nada."

The two men bent down and examined the dirt around the stage coach.

"It does look weird…too clean. Why would that be?" Bunrick murmured, mostly to himself. Ballard shrugged anyway.

"I have no idea."

The pair stood; two rough, leathery cowboys, bowlegged and bent from years in the saddle despite still being young.

"We should search around; see if we can find Mr. Smithman." Bunrick decided. Ballard grunted noncommittally and the two portrayed their idea to the rest of the group. Ballard glanced over where Luke and Wyatt stood, their heads bowed, Luke's hand resting on Wyatt's arm, comforting him. Ballard felt a deep feeling rise up in him; a need for the truth, a curiosity. What ever had happened, he needed to find out for Wyatt, for Louise and especially for their tiny, red-headed daughter, Sam.

Bunrick sent his men to mount their steeds and with a wave spread them into a fan towards the west. Ballard organized the rest of the Darton inhabitants and spread them along to the east. They figured that the north and south could be searched later. If Smithman had any sense in him, he would head west towards the next town or back east, towards Darton. Darton was closer at this point, but a man who'd just been in a carriage wreck might not know that; either from disorientation or simply no geographical knowledge of the area. Ballard asked Jed Kenworthy to advise Luke and Wyatt to go back to Darton, keeping a look out for Smithman as they did so, and allow Wyatt to tell his family and give them time to grieve. As for himself and Bunrick, something didn't feel quite right about the scene that was displayed in front of them and so they set out to examine it further.

The other men had disappeared almost completely from view and the two sheriffs still had found nothing. The sun was now high in the sky and Ballard felt his brown shirt was almost completely wet. He'd long since stripped off his jacket, but the glaring sun beat down mercilessly anyways.

He simply couldn't understand it. He was walking parallel along the road; Bunrick was as well, but on the other side of the stage coach. There wasn't even a footprint around the carriage. It seemed as if the darned thing had fallen and not a soul had moved. Perhaps they had died immediately…

A thought suddenly struck him. Where were the coach tracks? There should have been lines running through the dirt from where it had veered off the dusty road and into the little gulley, but there was nothing. Without a word, he pitched himself up the valley side, trying not to disturb the rocks. There on the road were the wheel tracks, they veered from the left to the right just before the antelope tracks and then fell here into the gulley. He followed them until about a metre from the coach, they simply stopped. It was as if someone had taken an eraser to the sand. In fact, now that he was looking closer there were some marks imprinted in the dirt below him. They were strange: tiny wave-like crests spread around the stage coach in a circular motion.

Now Ballard was thoroughly confused.

"Bunrick, come take a look at this!" He called to the red-headed, big-city sheriff who jogged over. "Look at these tracks."

"Well, that's unusual." Bunrick mused and then brightened. "No, I've seen it before."

Ballard frowned at him. "How?"

"It's the wind! See, they fell off the road, the tracks on the gulley weren't touched because the surface isn't flat, but if the wind skims the ground just right, and here, I believe it does, and then it wipes clean all traces. See? See how it all brushes to the east?"

"But what about the tracks on the road? And the markings in the dirt. Doesn't look like wind to me." The black-haired sheriff answered sceptically. Bunrick threw up his hands.

"What else could it be? You think its murder? Where's the proof? No tracks, doesn't look like anything was stolen…" He fished the manifest back out of his pocket and scanned it again. "…see, there was no bank transfer on the coach today. Seems a little fishy to me…And if it was a robbery, why kill the people? And breaking their necks? That doesn't sound like outlaws to me."

"Maybe," he continued, "maybe, Smithman was supposed to come, but he didn't. Maybe he was never even in the stage." It was a promising thought; it would explain his mysterious 'disappearance.'

Ballard sighed and squinted his eyes at the infuriating and gruesome scene before him; trying to play what might have happened in his head. It didn't make sense either way. He twirled his finger through his long, black, handlebar moustache; an anxious habit he had picked up from his father. A thought struck him; perhaps there was something in the coach itself. He walked back towards the brutalized shell, Bunrick on his heels and for the third time, scrambled up onto it. He peered into the murky darkness of the coach for several minutes.

"Anything there?" Bunrick called. Ballard was silent for a few minutes and then lowered half of his body in through the doorway. Bunrick watched the other man rummage around for a bit and finally pull himself out again, this time clutching something in his hands. Ballard jumped down and gazed at the thick, leather-bound book in his palms. There was nothing written on the front or the side. He opened it to the first page and realized with a start that it was the diary of Louise Ann Forster. Quickly he shut the book, wanting the respect the privacy of a friend.

"What is it?" Bunrick asked.

"Personal effects." Was all Ballard would answer. The book now belonged to Wyatt and should be read by him only. If there was any evidence of anything, Wyatt would certainly mention it to him. Ballard was certain his idea was sound and tucked the book safely into his saddlebag.

"Is there nothin' else we can do?"

"I don't believe so, Sheriff Bunrick. Oh see. Here come the others now. It was nice to meet you, under terrible circumstances, but…" He wasn't sure what to say. Bunrick nodded and took his hand, shaking it firmly.

"I do hope we meet again, Sheriff Ballard. It's good to work with another professional." He smiled morosely before mounting his dun and loping to meet with his colleagues.

Ballard turned and saw four of his fellow Nevadans galloping towards him. He grabbed Joker and rode towards them.

"Anything new?" Jed asked.

Ballard shook his head quietly. The others saw his frustration and felt it themselves.

"Let's go home." He muttered. The group rode in silence the entire way back to Darton.

* * *

Sobs filled the entire Forster house. Sam had thrown herself on her father and now clung to him desperately still as the entire family huddled together in the setting room. She was young, possibly too young to understand that her mom wasn't coming home from San Francisco, that she wasn't _here_ anymore, but she understood her grandmother, Grace, sobbing hysterically against her father who _never_ cried, except now, as tears fell freely down his face. She understood that there was something to be sad about and so she wailed in her thin little voice along with the rest.

"Mama!" She cried. "Where's Mama?"

"Sam, Honey," Wyatt held her closely, "She's not coming back."

Grace sniffled and her chin quivered as she hugged the child's back.

A sudden knock on the door broke up the small group and Wyatt left Sam in Grace's arms as he went to the door, wondering who would be calling them now. Sheriff Ballard's face drawn face loomed into view as he swung open the door.

"Wyatt, I'm so…so…"His voice broke and he looked down. "I can't even tell you…"

They both looked down, mourning together.

"I brought this. And we brought the coach and…and their…well, we brought them home." He handed the new widower a worn, leather book and turned to go. He hesitated. "I am sorry, Wyatt. Louise was…she was quite a woman. We will all miss her so much." Wyatt nodded and Sheriff Ballard trudged to his horse. The sky was greying and clouds gathered; a deep rumble signalled the coming of a storm.

Wyatt glanced at the book and realized with a start it was Lou's diary. He felt an insurmountable anger rising within him at the injustice done to his family. An unreasonable urge to hide the book somewhere…anywhere rose up in him. As long as this book was away from him….as long as he didn't have memories of her, her beautiful laugh and smile, everywhere he looked. A sob rose up in his chest. How was he supposed to live without her? He couldn't do it, he just couldn't do it….Without pause he bounded up the stairs to the attic and looked around wildly.

"Wyatt?" He heard his mother call from downstairs, her voice watery and hardly stable. He could hear Sam's sobs and knew he had to hide this painful memory. His eye caught on an old trunk in the corner, half-buried under dilapidated old furniture. He threw the junk off carelessly and flung the lid open. He buried the book under piles of old clothes, hardly noticing that it was Louise's wedding trousseau that he was digging through. When he did, the tears began to flow down his face. He fled down the stairs, leaving Louise's old journal amidst a pile of her memories and pulled his remaining family close to him. Somehow, someway…they would get through this.


	7. Accidents

Woah! I'm back! Oh my goodness! She's not dead! Yay...I'm SOOOOO sorry. For all of those who still care. I did disappear. I do apologize. My life has been...ah well, you don't want excuses. All I can say is I'm sorry! I should've at least left a note! Bad Win, bad! Truthfully, I totally stopped writing PS. I lost the heart for it for a while ( I won't say why; people will get insulted ). But I'm back. For now. We'll see how long my inspiration lasts. Anyways, here's a LONG chapter 6. I was going to split it up, but decided not to. It hasn't been betaed because I'm sure my lovely beta Katana is busy and I'd feel bad sending her this out of the blue! So I hope you enjoy. There is probably a lot of mistakes...sorry about that.

Disclaimer: Characters, whatnot and their backgrounds are Terri Farley's. I own...my ellipses...yay...:(

Oh and my glossary:

Ace-High = First class, respected.

At Sea = At a loss, not comprehending.

Dreadful = Very.

And if you don't know what capiche means, well, no offense (actuallly, yes, offense is meant), but you're beyond help. Or you're like 10 and you should get off this site. Do I seem mean? Yes, yes, I do. Sigh, my break has left me a bitter woman. Or maybe not the break, but the IDIOTS...never mind. Just go ahead and read. I'll shut up.

* * *

Chapter 6

_Darton, Nevada_

_1882_

The small one-roomed school-house was stuffy and stank of sweat and brain power. Black boards lined two sides of the building; at the front of the room was a raised dais where a large wooden desk stood ominously. Below it sat several desks and behind these desks stood a closed oak door. Students leaned over their work tablets, hard in concentration while others were sitting up straight looking around them in boredom.

Sam glanced up at Mr. Kelly O'Donnell, checking to make sure his back was still turned. Sure enough, he was busy helping little James Cutter spell the word 'friend.' She rolled her eyes at the young boy's simplicity and atrocious spelling. He was two years older than her, twelve, and he still couldn't remember a simple rule! Jake had taught it to her in a rhyme so she would always remember. "_I before e, except after c_," he always told her. She went back to writing her note in a hasty, scribbled scrawl.

"No, it's _i_, James. I before e, lad." Exasperation coloured the ex-Colonel's Irish brogue. Some of the other kids, seated at their two-person wooden desks, giggled. Their heads stayed down, so it was hard to tell exactly who the culprits were, but Mr. O'Donnell didn't care. He straightened up and glared at the entire class.

"Hush! Alluv ya! I donna want ta hear that agin. Do ya understand?"

25 heads of all size and color nodded in response, but not a single rose to look at the red-faced, tiny man. He nodded, satisfied that he had scared them into submission. Everyone feared Kelly O'Donnell's wrath; his Scottish brogue, when angry, would become so loud it was rumoured to carry all the way to the Hill's Mercantile. Even worse than an O'Donnell tongue-lashing was getting the ruler. He would have the student hold out their hand and give them, no matter the offense, 10 lashes with the ruler. His end goal was to have the poor child in tears: needless to say, his class was a strict one and very few pranksters ever got away with it, save two…Jacob Ely and Darrell Finnigan.

Sam glanced to her left across the aisle; Jake sat closest to her and beside him was his close friend Darrell. Both wore suspiciously sneaky smiles and she wondered what on earth they could be about. Immediately though, her mind veered from any thoughts of their pranks and quickly to the sharp angles of Jake's jaw, the strength of his 13-year-old chin and the deep blue-black gleam of his hair. His dark skin and eyes contrasted well to the white of his teeth. He was an exceptionally handsome boy: all of the Ely boys were, but Sam felt Jake was special. He was her best friend and, secretly she hoped, her future husband. She had it planned out, but he didn't know it yet. They'd get married young, build their own ranch and own tons of horses…like at least 20! And Jake would gentle them…with her help, of course. Oh yes, it was all going to work well…

His friend, Darrell, was another matter. Loud-mouthed, boisterous and pompous, he was a complete opposite of Jake. His dull, brown hair was messy, un-kept and his clothes were likewise the same way. His whole demeanour was one of disobedience and rebellion and his attitude; lazy.

Sam rolled her eyes as he and Jake laughed under their breaths at some unknown joke and quickly finished her scribbled note. She folded it into tiny squares and launched it with perfect aim towards Jake's desk where it landed between his tablet and reader. The soft sound caught his attention and he glanced over at Sam, puzzled, before carefully unfolding the paper and reading the note. His amazing brown eyes, which Sam compared to those of a mustang; wild, free and fiery, skimmed quickly over the contents. He nodded at Sam when he'd finished and she sat back, satisfied.

_Jake, lets go fisshing later, ok? At the creeek by Ded Hors Gully. _

To her dismay, Jake passed the note to Darrell who looked at Sam as well and winked at her. She wrinkled her tiny, freckled nose at him and turned her shoulder to him, using her long auburn hair as a curtain. She felt frustrated and ground her teeth together. Darrell was going to ruin everything! It was supposed to be just her and Jake! And occasionally Quinn or Nate when they had finished their chores. But they were okay! They usually talked to each other and left her and Jake alone, but no, not Darrell! All he did was talk and talk and talk….and bother her! He'd find a snake and throw it at her (even though _she_ wasn't afraid of snakes, no sirree!) or steal all of the fish she caught. He was a downright…um….what was that word that her pa always used…cad! That's right, he was a cad! And he didn't like her anymore than she liked him! She'd heard the names that he called her; Ginger, Freckle-Nose, Squeak, Short-Stop…etc, etc. And he was constantly telling Jake to stop hanging out with her.

Sam smiled as she thought of Jake's reply to Darrell's complaints, _"Brat? Why? She's cool; just leave her alone."_ Her smile widened when she thought of how she was the envy of all of the other girls. They pined, simpered and fluttered their eyelashes for Jake's attention, but he would just turn around and leave them standing. Sam knew she was the only girl he even talked to. The thought made her chuckle slightly.

Someone beside her cleared their throat and Sam looked up guiltily. Mr. O'Donnell was looking down at her with his browned hands standing on his round hips; one of his carrot coloured eyebrows was dangerously arched and his thin lips were pursed.

"Would ya care to write some more notes there, Lassie? Or would ya ratha wipe down them boards afta school?" His thick brogue sneered at her.

"Ummm…." Sam stuttered. She'd already finished writing her paragraph on the French and Indian War, but Mr. O'Donnell scared her senseless and she couldn't find the words to even tell him that. She also knew that writing notes in his class was a definite no-no.

"Well, then," a slow smile slid over his ruddy features, "I suppose ya need tha strap?"

Terrified, Sam's blue eyes widened and she shook her auburn head quickly.

"Please, no..p…pl..please no.." Her little voice shook with fear. She'd never been strapped before! She'd never been caught writing her notes and she'd never been afraid of O'Donnell before, but now she trembled at the prospect of having a bloodied and red hand. Then she would have to go home and explain it to her father who would probably give her another strapping for writing notes in class!

O'Donnell grabbed her tiny wrist and dragged her with ease up to the front of the class. The rest of the children had quieted and most watched fearfully, their eyes wide, as the red-headed Scot yanked his desk drawer open and whipped out a thick, wooden ruler. A few children hid their eyes. Sam squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away slightly, awaiting the pain she knew was coming.

Suddenly a rough, warm hand gripped her wrist and pulled it out of O'Donnell's grip. Sam opened her eyes in surprise and felt a warmth tingle through her stomach when she saw Jake standing over her and glaring at the teacher. At 13 he towered over most of the boys in Darton; he was even taller than Mr. O'Donnell! The short Scot squinted up at the dark-skinned boy.

"Ely? Ya have one chance to move, sonny. Or would ya ratha I had yur hand?"

Jake clenched his jaw, released Sam's wrist and held out his hand. Much of the class gasped and Sam sucked in a breath quickly. She grabbed the back of Jake's beige shirt and pulled.

"No, Jake!" She whispered, but he just pulled away without looking at her and pushed her towards her seat with his other hand.

O'Donnell watched the scene with a small smile on his wicked little face.

"I do believe," he began slowly, "that to take a punishment for yur little girl friend, you should have ta endure more, hmmm? Come outside, boy."

Jake followed Mr. O'Donnell out the small side door of the school. The door shut with a bang and for a moment the entire class sat there stunned before there was a huge rush and every single child, but Sam, rushed towards the window to see if they could see what was going on. Darrell got to the window first.

"He's yellin' at Jake…ooohhh….he's pointin' his finger at him….hahaha! As if he could scare Jake…" He trailed off, laughing a little. The other kids strained to see, but couldn't budge Darrell from his spot. Sam relaxed a little; it wasn't so bad if it was only a yelling! Jake could handle that….

"Uh oh." Darrell's tone turned serious. Sam stiffened. Surely he wouldn't strap Jake on the hand for something _she_ did?

"What? He's making Jake take his shirt off…" Every one stopped moving, shocked into stillness. Sam felt dread grow in the pit of her stomach. Darrell continued, "He's grabbing a…what? He can't do that!" Darrell started scrambling towards the door, but the mess of kids made it hard for him to move. Another young boy took Darrell's place by the window.

"Arthur? What's he doing, Artie?"

Questions flew as kids' curiosity and horror grew. Little Arthur Trinkell had the wildest blonde hair and the greenest blue eyes that Darton County School had ever seen. He had a wild sense of humour and had often been in trouble for being a prankster. Just now his eyes grew wide and he gasped. "He's beating him on the back with a stick!" He shouted in anger. Sam felt anger and sickness penetrate her stomach and joined the rush towards the door. She fought her way through the 20 some kids who were in the class and grabbed the handle…it suddenly turned and opened.

Sam gasped and stumbled forward. Her friend, Jen Kenworthy, scrawny and blonde, grabbed her arm and pulled her back before she could fall through the portal where the door had once been. Now Mr. O'Donnell was standing there. He was panting heavily, his ruddy face was redder than normal and his white sleeves were rolled up to expose darker hands and forearms that were flecked with little specks of red…blood? Sam felt her stomach turn and she noticed that every student had drawn back away from the crazy Scot. He eyed his class maliciously before snapping.

"Back to yer seats! Now!"

Everyone ran back to their seats, cursing themselves for their cowardice, but not wishing to be the next to be beaten. Sam felt tears burning behind her eyes and she barely noticed as Jen squeezed her hand.

O'Donnell stalked to his desk, grabbed his books, dismissed the class shortly and stalked to the front door.

"Everyone out now! Go home! If yer not all out in five seconds, you'll all be next!"

For several seconds no one moved and then suddenly the sound of benches scraping against the wooden floor and lunch pails being grabbed filled the room. Everyone took off out the front door, flying down the stairs and out onto the dusty street down the main street of the town. Kids split off from the group, taking off across the fields or through fields towards their farms. Sam saw Darrell and Jake's brothers, Quinn and Nate glance back at the school house and Mr. O'Donnell before shaking their heads and walking slowly towards their home ranch. The three of them kept their heads low and close together. They were obviously up to something. No doubt they were planning a way to get back at the cruel school teacher. There had been rumours that he beat kids he didn't like, but that was all they had been: rumours. Now Sam knew for sure that they were true, but none of the adults would believe them! They always took other adults' sides.

Sam walked slowly away from the small, one room, white schoolhouse, wondering how she could sneak back and check on Jake. She had a sudden idea and quickly sprinted over to a small tree-covered area. The school stood in a clearing a short ways away from the town surrounded by trees and foliage on three-quarters of the side and golden fields on the other. She crouched behind some of the shrubs and watched the school. Mr. O'Donnell shooed the rest of the kids away, closed the door and finally headed off to his own house only a short distance from the small one-horse town.

Sam crouched in her hiding spot for several minutes feeling her legs begin to burn. Finally, Jake appeared around the side of the school. His shirt was on once again, tucked into his brown pants, but his black head was down and he walked stiffly. He carried his lunch pail, tablet and books loosely and his steps were slow and measured. Sam glanced around for any sign of Mr. O'Donnell before she darted to Jake's side; her blue bonnet bouncing along her back. For several seconds they walked in complete silence while Sam glanced at Jake worriedly through her curtain of hair. She took a deep breath and held it…

"Are you okay?" Her voice come out higher than she had anticipated and slightly breathless.

Jake didn't answer; he just nodded his head sharply and then winced as if that hurt him. Sam flinched; this was all her fault. She felt the return of her tears, but fought them back. She took a breath, noticing that it was a bit shaky. The two travelled in thoughtful silence until they had walked for half an hour and had come to the road that led between their two ranches, River Bend and Three Ponies. The dirt road was covered in horse shoe prints, carriage tracks and footprints.

The playa around them was surrounded in sagebrush and cacti. Trees littered some of the higher areas of the surrounding desert and small, hardy bushes crawled along the ground. In the distance, tall cliffs; black and menacing, blocked the horizon. Wispy, white clouds drifted across the peacock blue sky, hiding the sun occasionally. It was a warm day, but thankfully it wasn't yet summer and so a sweet, cool breeze swept across the desert, blowing around the dust and cooling the desert inhabitants.

Up till this point Sam had managed to fight back her tears, but now it was becoming too much as she noticed dark red patches appearing on the back of Jake's shirt; his slight limp and each breath he took that seemed to hurt a bit more each step. She had offered several times to carry his lunch pail and books, but each time he refused. She stopped suddenly. Jake tilted his head in her direction, his dark eyes questioning and slightly pained.

"What?" That one word, said softly and almost fearfully, caused the tears to finally slide from Sam's blue eyes.

"Oh, Sam." Jake muttered, rubbing the back of his neck then wincing at the pain it caused him. His face went red and he looked like he wanted to escape. The pain in his back kept him stranded with the crying little girl.

"I'm s..so…sorry, Jake. It's all my fault!" Sam cried, burying her face in her hands. Jake sighed and turned to face her.

"Nah, its not, Sam."

"It is! I could've just taken the hand strapping and I would have been fine!" She glared at him, becoming ridiculously angry that he had taken the strapping for her. For treating her like a child when she could've taken a little pain…and now…now he had to suffer! It wasn't fair.

"Sam! It was my choice, okay? If I had to do it again, I would!" His tone was firmer now, his long, blue-black hair framed his face and his wild brown eyes flashed making him seem dangerous. Sam admired this for a second before retaliating.

"Why, Jake? Don't you think I could handle it? You're just like Dad! Always doing everything for me; making everything easy for me…I can do stuff too!" She stamped her booted foot making dust puff up across her blue and yellow gingham dress.

"Because, Sam…because…" He stopped and pulled his lips together in a thin line. He sighed, "Nevermind…just nevermind." He turned to walk again, but Sam grabbed his arm gently, trying not to jostle his back.

"Don't tell me that! Tell me why! You always do that…I hate it…" She trailed off, still holding his arm.

He frowned slightly and squinted at the sky. "Because…." He made a small growling sound in the back of his throat as if what he was going to say hurt more than the bleeding welts on his back. "Because seeing him hurt your hand hurt worse than having him beat my back, okay?" He huffed and turned back to the road, leaving Sam standing there in shock.

Sam stood in happy bliss and was about to blurt out her most treasured secret; that he was her first and only love, when he suddenly whirled around, careful to keep his back steady.

"You're my best friend, Sam! I promised Wyatt I would take care of you! How would he feel if he knew I'd let you get the strap because you were sending _me_ notes? You're _my_ responsibility!" He took a deep breath and nodded, approving his own little speech, not realizing that he had stolen every little bit of Sam's happiness. He turned to walk towards his own ranch again, stiffly, oblivious to the sounds of a heart breaking behind him.

* * *

Sam slouched into River Bend Ranch, dragging her feet and sniffling. Holding back the tears had proved impossible, but the length of the walk had ensured that she had finished crying by the time she reached her yard. Still, the evidence was clear as her eyes were still red and puffy and her face had become muddy from the mixture of tears, dirt and sweat on her petite face. Her long, red hair swung freely from its braid and her floral dress was hemmed with an inch of dirt because of her scuffling feet. She wasn't sure how she was going to explain this one to her Pa, but quickly decided against going into the main house.

She snuck into the large, wooden barn that adjoined a sizeable corral. Several stalls lined each side of the building and each contained a horse of every different color. Sam absent-mindedly stroked the nose of Smoke, her father's faithful cow horse and gave Kitty, a beautiful mare several stalls down, a scratch on her neck. She continued down the row until she came upon a smaller stall containing the most gorgeous black colt. His ebony coat gleamed as sun from the nearby window slat streamed across his back. His brown eyes glistened with intelligence and feistiness. _Just like his owner_, Dallas would often tease the young girl.

Sam had acquired this little colt after her Pa had bred Smoke and Kitty together. He was the last foal that Smoke would ever sire as Wyatt had gelded the beautiful grey stallion soon after; claiming he would be a better cow horse. And it was true. In the last year and a half, Smoke had improved exponentially and the little colt had grown considerably. Sam smiled; she'd named the small horse Blackie much to her Pa's horror. Dallas had simply laughed and Ross had raised an eyebrow at her. She thought of Jake's reaction, an outraged _WHAT? Are you FIVE?_ and sighed sadly at the thought of her own unrequited love.

"Only ten years old and I'm going to be an old maid, Blackie." She moaned quietly to her horse. The frisky colt tilted his head at her and danced around his stall.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly as Sam and Dallas continued training the small horse. Sam would lead him around the corral with only a soft, light halter and small guide line. Dallas would watch the young girl with the horse and smile as he noticed their bond. Jake had been helping Sam train and it was obvious how much it had helped. The young boy was a wonder with horses and tracking and ranching…and pretty much anything else he put his mind to. The kid was ace-high when it came to animals.

_Maybe not so much with people though_… He thought to himself. The old foreman had noticed Sam and Jake becoming closer and closer throughout the years and he also knew of the arrangement. He wondered when Wyatt would tell the kids that they were pretty much already engaged. He smiled, his sun-beaten face pointed towards the clear blue sky. If the two spent any more time together they would be married in the next year! If they kept it up, Dallas just _knew _they would end up married. Anyone could see it.

Still, when it came to women, Sam in particular, the boy was simply at sea. Dallas could see how upset she had been before training Blackie and he would bet his last buck that it had something to do with that boy. Especially since Ely wasn't here now, helping the young red-head train her colt. He'd asked her about it and she had responded with a muttered, "He got into trouble." She would say no more on the subject and her blue eyes would take on a guilty look whenever he tried to ask. So he simply stopped asking. Now she seemed happy enough; whatever it was that had bothered her, forgotten.

"Sam!" The girl turned to look at him as did the small black equine. "Bring 'im in! That's enough for today! We don't want him too tired, capiche?" He patted her on the back as she nodded, leading Blackie back towards his stall.

When she came back, she wiped her hands on her dingy, used-to-be sunshine yellow dress and turned to Dallas.

"Did you see how good he's getting? He listens so well! And he's so well-behaved." Her stormy grey-blue eyes sparkled with excitement. Dallas smiled.

"Yessir, he's gettin' good. Now why don't you go to the river at Dead Horse Gulley and find us some fish for supper. I got a dreadful bad cravin' for some good fish heads." Instead of Sam's usual smile, laugh and exclamation at how anyone could actually _eat_ fish heads, her cheerful façade dropped and her small face frowned. Dallas was shocked. After training and riding horses, there was nothing Sam liked better than to go fishing.

"I don't really feel like it." She muttered while staring at the red dirt beneath her feet. Dallas narrowed his eyes and grabbed the girl's head, one hand holding the back and the other on her forehead, checking her temperature.

"Well, I don't feel no fever. You sick, girl?" His voice was slightly teasing, but mostly just worried.

"No, I'm not sick! I just don't want to fish, alright!" She swiped at his hand and backed away, scowling. Her red-head temper surfaced and she crossed her arms. She knew she wasn't angry with Dallas, but his suggestion reminded her that she was supposed to be going fishing with Jake today. She knew that wouldn't happen with his back so beaten up and it only served to remind her how he would never think of her as more than just a child.

"Samantha." Dallas voice was low, but the disappointment struck her deeply. She knew better than to take her frustration out on him; she just couldn't help it sometimes.

"I'm sorry, Sir," She muttered, keeping her gaze lowered and her hands folded behind her back. If she'd shown this type of disrespect to Pa, he would have switched her good. Thankfully, Dallas was forgiving.

"That's better," he said, patting her shoulder, "Don't let your emotions control you, buckaroo. Why don't you tell me what's the matter?"

Sam blushed and shook her head. How could she tell _him?_ He was a guy; he wouldn't understand. She'd never tell Pa either. That would be too embarrassing! Maybe Gram…

"Girl problems?" Dallas muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He had no idea how to deal with girl problems, if that was the issue. When Sam nodded, he swallowed. "Maybe you should talk to Grac…your Gram." He felt relieved when she nodded again, obviously looking relieved also. He turned her shoulders and gave her shove between the shoulder blades towards the house. "Go on, then."

She took off at a run and breezed into the house. Sam had never felt more thankful when Dallas hadn't questioned her more and had instead given her some reliable and good advice. A woman always understood these types of problems. "Gram! Gram, where are you?" Sam hopped up the stairs of the wooden ranch house in a most unlady-like manner and ran to her grandmother's room.

"Gram?" She panted.

Grace Forster looked up from her sewing. She'd been so entrenched in hemming the ends of Sam's new western yoke dress; she hadn't even heard her granddaughter calling.

"What's the matter, Dear?" She set aside the beautiful chequered blue and white material and slipped out of the rocking chair her wonderful son had fashioned for her. Sam sat down lightly on the single bed and Grace joined her, the bed dipping only slightly under her small weight. She put a single, aged hand on her granddaughter's small, slender shoulder and listened quietly as the young girl tried to sort through her words.

"I just…he'll never…I want…but that's not ever…I don't know…Gram? What should I do?" Sam turned a suddenly agonized face towards the silver haired woman.

Grace tried to keep her face serious, but it was a losing battle. She smiled, "Sam, I can't help you if I don't know the problem. And I'm afraid your…discourse…was a little less than clear." Sam flushed and nodded, looking down at the sheets. Her fingers played with the fringed edges of the beautiful, brightly coloured Mexican throw.

"It's Jake," she muttered. Grace nodded.

"I assumed, Sweetheart."

Sam looked up, "You did? But, how?" Grace just sighed and gave her a knowing look.

"Because, whenever you are hurt or angry, it's usually because of that boy." Sam flushed again. "And because he's not here today. Which I'm very curious as to why he's not?" She drifted off. The small red-head took a deep breath before speaking.

"Had some trouble at school."

"I see," Grace studied the girl's face carefully. "But that's not the only reason you're upset. You're angry too, aren't you?"

Sam nodded furiously as her emotions spilled over like a volcano, unstoppable and blistering. "He just calls me Brat all the time! And he treats me like a child, which I'm not, and he thinks he has to protect me _all the time,_ just 'cause Pa told him to! I don't need him! I don't!" She sniffed.

"But you like him, don't you?" It was hardly a question and Sam nodded, embarrassed.

"Oh Gram," she threw her arms around the older woman and cried into her shoulder, "I love him! I know I do! But he doesn't even see me like that! I'm just one of the guys…What do I do? He'll never marry me!"

"Samantha, goodness gracious, child. You're only ten years old! Aren't we being a little over dramatic?" Grace sighed as she hugged the small girl to her bosom. "You're life is not over because one young boy hasn't declared his everlasting love for you. And if you think it is, well then…you care too much about something that has little importance."

Sam tried to protest, but Grace held her hand up.

"No, dear one. You may think it's the most important thing in the world right now, having a beau, but it's not. You have a life! Live it! Have fun, you are too young to have a man right now anyways. You don't know what the future is going to hold, young lady. So you need to live for today and find out tomorrow. Do you understand?" Sam nodded and gave a watery sniff.

"But what if…"

"No 'buts!' No questions. One day, Jake may see you for the beautiful girl you are. But, for now, be a girl! Not a woman. Now get downstairs and wash yourself up for dinner. Gracious, but you are a sight! What were you doing? Wrestling Blaze?" The thought of her wrestling with the excitable, little ranch dog set Sam laughing as she galloped down the stairs with a new hope in her heart.

* * *

It was several weeks later when Jake was healthy enough, in his mother's eyes, to come back to work at River Bend. He came cantering into the yard one early morning on his brown gelding pony. The horse looked like a demon as he sped through the brisk morning air, breath coming out in a steam as the warm air met the cold. Jake sat comfortably on his back, looking as though he were part of the horse. He was a centaur, a mythical creature Sam had read about it several of her books; half horse, half human. She felt her heart skip a beat, but chastised herself and set Gram's words running through her mind.

_Be a girl! Not a woman! You are too young to have a man right now._

She sauntered slowly up to him, being very careful to show that she surely _did not_ care whether he was back or not.

"Oh…you're back?" Sam was proud of herself for the amount of carelessness in her voice. Jake just nodded at her, his face the normal impassive mask it usually was.

"How's your back?" She kept the same inattentiveness in her voice, but she really was curious. Besides, the punishment was supposed to have been hers. She felt a small twinge of guilt.

Jake just shrugged and yawned, "Fine. How's your horse?" Sam felt a small tug of a smile as Jake still refused to say 'Blackie.'

"He's fine. He's leading really well still. He can wear a soft bridle now and he actually listens quite well." She felt pride inflate her smile and make her stand up straighter.

With Dallas' help, they had accomplished quite a bit. Jake nodded again and looked like he was about to say something else when they heard someone call his name.

Both kids turned to watch as Wyatt sidled up to them, his long strides slightly crooked and bowlegged. His beige Stetson covered his face, but his voice had seemed docile enough.

"Jake." With a single glance, a handshake and one word the older cowboy inquired after Jake's health and asked him what had happened. By now most of the neighbours knew Jake had been injured, but none knew the extent of the problem. Jake just shrugged, showing he was fine, but unwilling to tell what had occurred. Wyatt looked at Sam, but he already knew he wouldn't get an answer out of her. He had questioned her for days, but all he could get out of her was a simple sentence saying Jake was too protective and he'd gotten in trouble.

"Samantha, why don't you go and get Blackie ready?" He cringed slightly at the name, but waved his daughter away with a hand. The young girl frowned, but did as she was told. As soon as she was out of earshot, Wyatt turned back to the boy in front of him with a set and stony expression. It simply read that Jake wasn't going anywhere until he had told Wyatt what happened. Jake clenched his jaw slightly and dropped his gaze to the ground.

"I got in trouble," the 13-year-old muttered.

"I figured," Wyatt folded his arms. "Why was the teacher angry?"

"Passing notes," His teeth grinded together, his jaw was so tightly clamped together. Wyatt's brow rose.

"_You_ were passing notes?" His tone indicated how unlikely he found this proposition to be.

Jake just shook his head and crossed his arms, indicating that wild horses wouldn't be able to drag any more answers out of him. Wyatt sighed again knowing how stubborn he was. This was Luke's son; the man who could spend days not saying a single word. Wyatt thought about his answer again. Jake had gotten in trouble for passing notes, but he hadn't been the one passing them…he took the punishment for someone else? The young boy still wouldn't look him in the eye and kept glancing over to where Blackie's stall was, obviously wanting to escape over there.

"Yes, Jake? Do you want to go somewhere?" The boy looked up.

"Just to make sure Sam's alright, sir."

Cripes! Wyatt swore this boy was even more protective than he was. He nodded and then suddenly lightning struck. If Wyatt had known what a light bulb was, one would have appeared above his head. He was so protective of Sam; he could hardly leave her alone for a full minute. And someone had been passing notes in class who Jake had felt it necessary to protect. It all made sense now. Wyatt felt irritation that his daughter would be so disobedient in school until he realized that Jake had taken a severe beating in place of her. Maybe his plan _was_ working…He shook his head with a small smile and headed towards the house to get ready for a work day. He could punish Sam later, _after_ she and Jake had finished spending the day together. _You old coot, you_, he laughed silently to himself.

* * *

After Wyatt left, Sam and Jake stayed in the corral with Blackie trailing behind Sam, sans lead-line.

"Good job, Brat. Slowly…no. Don't look at him. Pretend he's not there."

"Is he behind me? Are you sure he's following?" Sam fought the overwhelming urge to gaze behind her. She started to turn her neck when Jake called out to her.

"Don't look, Orpheus."

She stopped short and heard small hooves behind here stop also.

"What?"

"Never mind, just keep going."

"No! I want to know what you mean! Who's Orfus?"

Jake sighed, "Never mind, Mosquito. Get going."

Sam whirled around, "Don't call me that!" Blackie, frightened by his mistress' harsh, raised voice and clenched fists, whinnied and tried to bolt past her. Sam gasped and, pulling up her hands to protect her face, stumbled backwards. Jake jumped off the fence and ran to the small red-head who was pulling herself to her feet. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"Are you ok? Did he hurt you? Where does it hurt? Sam, look at me, tell me-"

"Jake!" She smacked his hands away, "I'm fine! He didn't hurt me. I just tripped." Her face flushed in embarrassment. "It wasn't his fault."

Jake backed away and nodded, still frowning, but convinced she was fine. "I think we should be done for today."

Sam stopped brushing at the dirt on her dress and looked at him in dismayed shock. "What? No! Please, that was my fault! He didn't do it on purpose! It was working. Please, Jake? Let's continue! I'm sorry, I will listen to you, I'll do everything you say-"

Jake held up a hand, "Fine! Just shut your mouth for a second." Sam stood still, hardly breathing, waiting for his next instructions.

"Alright, we'll try it again. Just don't turn around! And for goodness sakes, don't scream again."

Sam nodded, "Ok, I won't." Jake turned to the south side of the corral where Blackie stood with his head cocked, wondering what those humans were doing now. "But…" The young boy turned and looked at the girl with his hands on his hips. She held up her hands.

"Now, just hear me out! We've done this for ages, Jake! He's got the hang of it; I know how to…he's doing just fine! Can we just try something new? Maybe…a little harder?"

Jake narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "What do you have in mind?"

Sam pretended to consider it for a moment, gleeful that she could convince him so easily to abandon The Routine for just a little bit. He always had every moment planned and the lack of change was getting to her. Still, he never, ever changed his plan. It always was the same and now he was willing to change it! _Maybe he does like me…Stop it!_ She chided herself before her thoughts could get out of hand.

"Well…maybe…I could….rmindhim," she mumbled, suddenly worried he would refuse her outright.

"Woah, what was that in English?" Jake scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. His deep brown, mustang-eyes were shining and Sam felt herself become a little light-headed. His eyes always seemed to enthral her.

"Um…" she took a deep breath, "y'know, ride…him, maybe."

"No," he shook his head, "No way, Brat. He's not ready and neither are you!"

Sam felt her heart sink until she remembered a conversation she'd overheard between Gram and Pa.

"That boy…he's so henpecked…" Pa had sighed.

Gram had laughed, "Yep, she's got him wrapped tightly around her little finger…"

At the time, she'd had no idea what they were talking about, but now she was willing to bet it had been her and Jake they'd been conversing about. And she was willing to try anything to ride Blackie.

She clasped her small hands in front of her and plastered the sweetest smile she had on her face. She widened her eyes into what she hoped was a doe-eyed look and fluttered her eyelashes a little. "Please, Jake? Pleeeeease? Do you know how much it would mean to me? I just reaaaaaally want to ride him. I'll never ask you anything again! I promise…You'd be my friend forever?" She lilted, hoping she hadn't overdone the whine in her voice. Jake's face was as impassive as ever.

"No."

Her shoulders drooped, "Please?" She pleaded sincerely. "Jake, we've been working on him _forever_. He's ready and so am I! I promise I will listen to everything you say. I'll do whatever you tell me!" He was almost convinced, she could tell. She just had to sweeten the deal a little more, "I'll be your servant for a week! No, a month! I'll do all your chores! I'll even give you my allowance! Please, Jake! That's 10 cents. Please?" This time, the clasped hands and widened eyes were completely sincere. And this time, it worked.

"Fine," Jake growled. "But you're doing my chores for two months _and_ you will do _everything_ I tell you to. The minute you disobey, we're done. Got it?" She was nodding enthusiastically through the entire sentence.

"Oh thank you, Jake!" She squealed, flinging her slender arms around his neck. "You won't regret, I promise. I'll make you so proud!"

Jake backed away, out of her embrace and rubbed his neck as his dark face reddened. "Fine," he muttered, "just don't get mushy on me. And go get something even softer than this bridle. Leather won't work….do you have an old dress or something?"

Sam thought for a moment.

"I have an old nightgown that doesn't fit anymore! Would that work?"

He nodded and she shot like a streak into the house, screaming at Gram if she knew where her old nightgown was. She was back in record time with the nightie cut roughly into strips and tied into a halter. It had obviously been fashioned by Wyatt as Sam still couldn't tie a decent knot to save her life. _One more thing to work on,_ Jake sighed to himself as they fastened the soft, red fabric around Blackie's head.

"Alright," he said as Sam gently led the colt around the corral, getting him used to the new halter. "Now turn him gently…make him turn, Sam…jeesh, Brat, you're the boss, not him! Make him turn…that's right."

It took a lot of time and the sun was high in the sky by the time Jake said they were ready to try getting Sam mounted onto his back.

"Gently, just lean on him…good…lean more…Yes, I know you're leaning as much as you can. Don't give me lip. You're just too light, s'all."

Sam was so excited when Jake _finally_ told her he would help boost her up. She slipped her dusty old boot into his linked hands and grabbed the saddle. With just a little effort, she was suddenly on the leggy colt's back and she was grateful that the brown dress she had chosen today had full skirts. Still, as she shifted a tiny bit of her calf showed above her boot. She quickly smoothed her skirt when Jake turned his attention to Blackie.

He told her to take him on a couple rounds of the corral while he tacked up his pony. She often would lean down and scratch his neck while whispering, _good boy, good Zanzibar,_ into his ear. At the sound of his secret name, the black horse would twitch his ears and toss his head slightly. Sam's excitement doubled.

It didn't take long and the two were clip-clopping over the bridge heading west of River Bend. Jake would ride slightly behind Sam and to her right, making sure everything was fine and that the colt wasn't acting up. Sam felt like she was flying. The young horse's gait was so light and so smooth; it was as if there was no ground. They were only walking slowly, but to Sam it seemed that the ground was flying by; the sagebrush and stubby bush bouncing past like clouds in the seamless sapphire sky.

A light breeze kissed her face so gently, cooling her down as the hot sun beat down on them. She envied Jake and his black Stetson as it shaded his face. Her own dusty, cream-colored bonnet hung around her back and the tendrils of hair that weren't pulled back into her braid clung to her tanned, freckled face. She never wore a bonnet around Jake. She had known him for so long, propriety didn't seem to matter. Sweat dripped down from her forehead and onto her nose, but she was too worried about removing her hands from the "reins" to wipe it away.

The desert was quiet except for the clopping of the horses' hooves, the creak of Jake's leather saddle and the quiet huffs of the horses' breath. There was an occasional bird chirp or song, but it seemed as if the desert had stilled just for this moment: this moment when she was riding her horse; her very own horse. Her stomach was still in knots with excitement as she realized all their hard work was paying off.

She could remember when Blackie had just been born. Kitty had tentatively accepted the little foal as her own and Sam had watched all night as the mother and son had slept and fed their way through the night. She could remember his first wobbly, newborn steps and his first shrill neigh. She recalled when they had weaned him from Kitty, how no one had gotten any sleep those first nights as the two had called to each other. But Sam had stayed in the barn with him and he gradually grew to accept her as a substitute for Kitty.

Sam glanced slightly to her side, but she couldn't see Jake without turning around completely and she was too nervous to do that. He had told her a long time ago that she should give her horse a secret name: a name that only she and the horse knew and it would cement the bond between them. It took forever to think of something suitable; of something special enough. She had finally picked something she had heard in school, _Zanzibar._

Mr. O'Donnell had said it was a country in…umm…Afca or some far away place that she had never seen. He had said it was so far away you had to take a boat to get there and that it took positively _ages_. He had told them about the animals there, ones with tall necks or horses with black and white stripes…some were so strange; Sam had a hard time believing it was true.

The ride was going perfectly when Sam saw the fence up ahead. She knew that it was the end of the property and felt slightly nervous that they were going out of the Forster's property line. Still, it was nice to know that Jake would protect her. He would keep her safe. She had no doubt about it. His voice broke through her reverie for the first time since they'd left the yard.

"Alright, Brat, you go first. Just level him up to the gate and open it. I'll come behind you and close it again." His voice was low and quiet so as not to spook the horses. Sam nodded to show she understood, but her stomach cramped up with nerves.

She'd never opened a gate on horseback before and she was suddenly afraid. It was much harder than it sounded because you had to line your horse up just right to open it and then angle through it.

The wind suddenly slammed forward and the wooden gate rattled loudly. Blackie started and backed up, tossing his head.

"Woah, Blackie, its okay, boy…woah." Sam babbled trying to keep her fear from telegraphing through her knees and hands.

"It's alright, Brat. Just lift the latch."

"I'm trying." Sam hated how high her voice sounded in her ears. She could hardly hear herself over her heartbeat.

"Well, just line him up to the fence…like that." He sounded slightly irritated and Sam tried desperately to angle Blackie so she could reach the latch. She managed to unlatch the gate and held onto it, proudly. She tried to pull Blackie through the fence line, but the wind had picked up and he was spooking slightly. She could hear Jake talking behind her, trying to tell her what to do, but her own fear was making it hard to hear. She did hear one sentence though.

"Oh come on, you baby. Just move and I'll do it."

Anger flashed through her and she whipped around to tell him to take it back _or else_ when she lost control and let go of the gate. The wind whipped it around so hard that Blackie side stepped into Jake and his pony. Jake grabbed for her reins, worry etched on his young face, but Blackie took that moment to notice that the gate was open and there was a whole playa in front of him. Without any warning, he took off like a bullet towards the Calico Mountains, far in front of them.

Sam held on tightly, ignoring the wind whipping at her dress and hair. She couldn't hear anything, but her own heartbeat. She knew Jake was probably galloping after her, yelling at her to do something, but she certainly couldn't hear him. Then she noticed that she had no reins. She was clutching the saddle horn and the ebony mane, but the reins were trailing down by Blackie's feet. Fear clutched at her heart that he would trip and fly headlong into the ground breaking his leg or neck. She knew she had to retrieve those reins. She bent down, intent on the soft, red material. She suddenly could hear a voice, strained and soft compared to the whistling wind.

_Don't, Sam! Leave the reins! Just hold on! Don't lean, Sam!_

She knew it was probably Jake, but she also knew that she just had to retrieve those reins. Blackie could fall and die if she didn't. She leaned just a little farther down to the left and suddenly Blackie was veering to the right and she was falling. She felt something hit her head so heavily that her vision blacked out and the soft, _hard_, ground caught her. And then all she could hear was the sound of hooves; one was retreating quickly in the wrong direction and the other was coming towards her.

She had a sudden fear she was about to be trampled and tried to flinch, but her body refused to listed to her and her eyes refused to open. Darkness was trying to swallow her whole, her head was fuzzy and she just knew she was hallucinating because Jake couldn't be sitting beside her, crying and sobbing that _she would be fine_, that he would _get help_, that he was sorry, _oh so sorry_. And then suddenly everything went dark and she heard no more.

* * *

The room was silent as a family and its neighbours waited with bated breath for something, for anything that was good news. Wyatt was pacing the room, the exact same room that he had paced in 10 years earlier, waiting for the same girl, the girl whose life was hanging in the balance, to be born.

He couldn't accept that this was happening. He couldn't accept that he was going to lose his daughter too. _Not her, God, please, not her too._ He couldn't handle it. She was his little light, his absolute joy. How could she die? She was only 10 years old. She couldn't die…she just couldn't.

Grace Forster held Maxine Ely's head against her shoulder as the two women wept and mourned as one. Both women loved the girl as if she was their own daughter. Dallas and Ross were sitting on their chairs, stunned and horrified, wandering what was going to happen next. Luke Ely sat beside his sobbing wife, holding her hand with one hand and circling her shoulders with the other, but his eyes were on the still form of his son. He felt the horror and the deep sadness; he too had loved the little girl with the red-hair and the feisty temper. Yet he had concern also for his son who had not moved from his position since the doctor had arrived. Wyatt had said that the boy had come racing, screaming into the room, yelling and crying. Luke had never, _never,_ seen his son cry.

And yet, now he sat on the edge of his chair, his head buried in his hands, crying silently. Luke let go of his wife, happy that Grace was there to console her also. He placed a kiss on her forehead and swept over to where his 13-year-old son sat. He did something then he rarely did; he grabbed the boy in a hug. Jake stiffened at first and then suddenly, as if the dam had broken, he clutched his father's jacket and wept against him desperately. He could hear the boy muttering something like, _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,_ the sound muffled against his jacket. He rocked the boy gently and whispered that it was alright, that she would be alright, fighting and losing against the tears in his own eyes. He felt Maxine come over and fold her arms around the two of them, crying into her son's hair. Grace was hugging Wyatt desperately now.

Suddenly the door opened. Every occupant of the room broke apart and stood up except for Luke who continued to hold his shaking son against him.

"Doc…Can we see her?" Wyatt's voice broke. He couldn't continue.

Doctor MacNeil was in his young fifties with greying and receding hair, but his emerald eyes still twinkled with life. Now those eyes were heavy and sad.

"She'll live, but I would wait for a little to see her." He said, calmly. A sigh went up in the room as everyone rejoiced at this happy news, but MacNeil wasn't done yet. He held up a hand to quieten everyone down.

"But there's some…complications." Everyone grew still and silent. "The horse's hooves have struck her temple and she is in a comatose state right now. She will remain so for a while, but she has passed the danger zone and she will live. When she does awake, she will need to be watched continuously. In fact, she should be transferred somewhere, at least for a while, where they have more medical facilities. And closer facilities."

Wyatt sucked in a breath at all of this information. Grace looked at him, confused at what the doctor meant.

"Comatose?" The father asked. The doctor nodded as he explained.

"Unconscious, for now. But she will wake up. However…She can not be hit again so hard. Especially not the front of her head. That is dangerous and it could cause serious damage to the frontal lobe. She'll need to be careful for the rest of her life, especially in the next few years. Another hit and…" He trailed off, not sure how to put it delicately. Wyatt nodded his understanding.

"And you think she should be closer to a doctor?" He questioned, spreading his hands helplessly in front of him. "We're so far out here…I just…how can we?"

"You could move her for a little while. The best physician for this type of injury right now is in San Francisco. If you have any way to move there, just for a while at least, that would be best."

Wyatt nodded, "Her aunt lives there."

"Good." MacNeil held his hand out; now clean from the blood that had covered it previously. Wyatt shook it. "I will stay here tonight, if that's alright, and make sure she's alright."

Wyatt nodded again, "Of course. We'll bring a cot in for you."

"Much obliged." The doctor turned to the room again and closed the door behind him.

"Praise the Lord," Grace prayed, her palms outstretched. The others nodded and Dallas and Ross left, declaring that they should check on the ranch right away while wiping their eyes from what suspiciously seemed like tears. Maxine and Grace went to get the cot from the closet and some fresh linen for the doctor.

Jake was now silent, but his face was still buried against his father's chest. Wyatt knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. Jake shakily turned his head, but he refused to meet the older cowboy's eyes and kept his face downcast.

"Jake, thank you for all you've done-" Wyatt started, but Jake interrupted him by wildly shaking his head. "Yes, Jake, you saved her life."

"No I didn't!" He said furiously, clenching his fists and staring at the wooden slats on the floor.

"Jake," Luke frowned, "why would you say that? If you had not come and found us, she could have died out there."

Jake flinched, but he shook his head adamantly. Wyatt squeezed his shoulder.

"What's wrong, son?"

Jake took a shaky breath and whispered, "It's my fault."

Wyatt grit his teeth and Luke tightened his arms around his son's shoulders.

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Jake. This is _not_ your fault. Don't you ever say that again." Wyatt ground out.

"If I'd just said 'no' to her, if I'd just opened the gate…she's hurt because of _me_. She could have died because of _me!_" The last word was shouted as he raised his head to try and make Wyatt understand. Suddenly he quieted again and another tear dripped down his cheek and off his chin as he looked in Wyatt's face. "She could've died and I will _never_ forgive myself for that." The last part was whispered.

Wyatt couldn't speak; his throat was closed as he watched the incredible guilt dance across the young Native boy's handsome face. His red eyes were filled with self-hatred and agonized tears. Wyatt couldn't say anything; so instead, he grabbed the boy in a hug and just shook his head.

"Don't you ever…Don't ever…You…could never…hurt…her." He choked out.

Jake just wept quietly as his guilt consumed him.

* * *

After the sixth day of Sam's coma, she suddenly woke up claiming she was hungry enough to eat Blaze and that if she didn't get some food, it might actually happen. Wyatt was so excited she was alive, he ran outside into the ranch hands' bunkhouse and whooped and hollered till everyone was awake. After eating and resting, Sam caught her father's hand.

"Papa?" Such a soft voice coming from such a bruised face made Wyatt's heart ache.

"Yes, Sweetie?" He spooned some more of Grace's chicken broth into his little girl's mouth and waited until she swallowed.

"Daddy, don't get mad," she waited for him to nod before continuing, "How's…Bl…Blackie?"

Only if you were observing carefully would you notice Wyatt's fingers suddenly clench the spoon he was holding until his knuckles turned white or see his jaw clench slightly.

"I don't know, Sweetheart."

Sam's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" She scrambled to sit up and Wyatt had to put his arm across her to keep her in the bed. "Did you find him? Where is he?"

Wyatt fought to control his voice. "He ran, Sam. We…couldn't find him." He didn't mention that they hadn't looked for him either. Just the name of that cursed horse made him angry. The beast had almost _killed_ her, for Pete's sake! Why should he find it? The only way he was ever bringing that horse back was with a bullet through its brain. He didn't mention this to his little daughter who now had tears in her eyes.

"But Papa! He's probably scared and out there alone! What if he's hurt?"

"Sam, we don't know where he is! We can't find him. There's too much Playa and Jake said he'd run toward the mountains, last he saw."

Sam smiled suddenly, "But, Pa! Jake could find him! He's such a good tracker! He could find anything! You said it yourself: he could find a bee in snowstorm…or something like that…" She trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

Wyatt sighed and decided not to tell the little girl that her hero hadn't left his house or spoken a single word since his guilty declaration after the accident. Luke said the boy had holed up in the house and was barely eating. Wyatt had asked Luke if Jake had wanted to see Sam now that she was awake, but the next day Luke had come back, shaking his dark head morosely.

"He's too guilty," Luke had said, "every time he says her name, his face gets this guilty look on it. I don't know what to do, Wyatt. I'm at my wit's end!" The normally calm man had thrown up his hands in despair. "He's going to starve if he keeps this up."

"What if, once Sam is better, we bring her over there?" Wyatt had mused.

Luke had shrugged, "Maybe. I don't know what to do. I really don't." The worry in the older man's voice had tugged at Wyatt's heartstrings. Jake was a good boy. He didn't deserve this guilt trip that he was putting himself through. And if even his brothers could break the pity party, there was little hope anything else could either. Except maybe the little girl who was causing this heartbreak.

"Jake…can't…right now, Sam. Actually, I have something important I want to talk to you about."

Sam tried to interrupt. After all, nothing was more important than Blackie, but Wyatt help us his hand to stop her.

"No, Sam, this is too important." He sighed and Sam saw the weariness etched into his face, the lines that hadn't been there a week ago. "Sam, the doctor thinks you need to be near a doctor…for a while. He said you'll be in danger if you ever get…hit…again, especially for the next few years."

"You want to move me?" Sam tilted her head. "Into town?"

Wyatt winced and shifted. "The doctor said there was a specialist that would be better."

"Where? In Darton?"

"No, Sam. In San Francisco."

Sam's eyes widened, "Like where Aunt Sue is? You mean, I can go visit her?" His late wife's auburn-haired sister hadn't visited them for several years even though she was well-loved by all of the Forsters.

"Yes, Sam. But it might be more than a…" He paused and felt his heart break slightly, "It might be more than a visit."

"What do you mean, Pa?" Her innocent blue eyes studied him intently, confused by what he meant.

"You'll be close to the doctor there. You'll have a good education there and you'll meet lots of nice people-" He blurted.

"Papa, what are you talking about? If I'm only going to be there for a few weeks?" He shook his head and her eyes widened. "Months? Pa, I don't want to go for months…" She drifted off when Wyatt hung his head. "Pa?"

"We'll start with a year, Sammy, and we'll go from there." The finality in his voice cut through Sam like a knife.

"A year! But I can't! I have to go to school! What about my friends? What about Jake? I can't just leave him! Or Blackie! His training…" She wailed.

"Samantha, it's final. You're going for a year _minimum_. Please don't fight me on this. I don't want you to go, but I want you safe more than anything else. You'll have a good time." His voice softened to a whisper.

"But Pa, I don't want to." Tears fell down her face.

"You have to, Sam. Please, for me." Wyatt could hardly hold his tears in check watching her young face fall. "Please…"

She was silent for a while and then she shook her head slowly and Wyatt could see he was going to be in for the fight of his life.

* * *

It took three days for Wyatt to prepare Sam for the journey while every minute she fought him tooth and nail. She pleaded, begged, cried, screamed, raged and even used the silent treatment to dissuade him. Nothing worked. She cried like she had never cried before. She cried for herself, for her Pa, for her Gram, for Blackie and she cried hardest of all for her friend Jake who she still hadn't seen since she had woken up.

She knew he was probably angry at her. No one had told her why she couldn't see him, or even what the problem was, but Sam was certain he was angry that she had gotten herself hurt simply because she hadn't listened. She had tried to pick up the reins when he had clearly told her not to. Sometimes, in the dead of night, while she stared at her whitewashed ceiling she could hear his voice in her head telling her to leave the reins and to stop leaning. She would feel sick with fear as she felt herself falling time and time again. More than once, Wyatt or Grace would wake up in the morning to find her curled up in the fetal position next to them with a tearstained face. Her nightmares had become less intense, but were still frequent. Sometimes, as she was hobbling around outside on her homemade crutches she would glance towards the bridge and the Calico mountains and feel dizzy. The smell of sagebrush made her feel faint and any sensation of falling would have her whimpering in fear.

Dallas told her the feelings would lessen in time; that she had gone through a shocking ordeal, but that she would come out of it stronger, but Sam wasn't so sure. She hadn't been able to even step in the barn once. Her fear of horses was strong even though she told no one. She would construct the most reasonable excuses, _it hurts to see Blackie's stall and know he's not there, Pa,_ and leave it at that, especially since that one was true. No one knew of her fear and she intended to keep it that way. She knew that if she stayed here, eventually she would have to get over fear and mount up again, but if she left for San Francisco the fear might stay with her forever.

Often, during the night, she would wake up with a sensation that Blackie was there, just outside. She would dream that she could hear his neighs in the distance and then she would wake with a start as tears crept down her face and wet her pillows. A part of her would be happy to leave River Bend as memories crashed on her every day, but mostly she felt sick about leaving her family. She'd fought as hard as she could, but nothing would help. Wyatt's mind would not be changed.

And so she found herself, one day, with an empty room and a trunk and a valise packed with all belongings she held dear. She had begged and pleaded to stay and then she had begged and pleaded for him to find Blackie. He had rejected both with a stony face. Finally she simply pleaded that he at least let her say goodbye to her friends. At this, he nodded.

She bounced along with the wagon, feeling her ribs wince in protest to the rough treatment. She touched her cheek and flinched at the pain, knowing the bruises were more yellow than purple and on their way to healing. Still, she knew she must look a sight. She also knew that Jen wouldn't care.

As they pulled up the Golden Palomino Ranch, Sam saw Jen come flying out of the house, white-blonde pigtails flying out behind her. The two girls hugged, promising they would never forget each other, that they would write often and that they would stay best friends no matter _what_. And then they left. Sam waved goodbye until she could no longer see the house and turned to her father.

"Jake?" She questioned. He nodded, but his face was grim. Sam felt guilty and wondered if maybe Jake didn't even want to see her. He was probably still so angry, but she knew she had to say goodbye to him, even if he was furious.

As they pulled up to the Three Ponies, Sam caught sight of several of the Ely boys working in the corral with a wild mustang. There were loud shouts coming from the round pen and raucous laughing.

Maxine Ely, small and blonde, emerged from the house, smiling sadly.

"Come to say goodbye?" She asked.

Sam nodded and looked around, trying to spot her favourite Ely. Maxine noticed.

"He's not here, Sam." She looked guilty, suddenly.

"Well, do you know where he is? Maybe he forgot we were coming?" Sam tried to control the shaking in her voice. He must be so angry with her if he wouldn't even say goodbye.

"Sam…I…" Maxine's voice broke and she gently hugged the little girl to hide the guilt in her eyes. Jake had not forgotten. His guilt had caused him to panic when she told him that Sam was coming to say goodbye. He'd mounted his pony and left as though the Devil himself was after him. When he had heard that Sam was leaving for San Francisco, he had turned impassive and stony faced and left his room for the first time. She later caught him hugging his chocolate brown pony and staring at the barn wall. He still wouldn't speak and now he wouldn't eat at all. Maxine's worry was starting to gnaw at her stomach. She'd tried to be patient; she'd tried kind and understanding. Heck, she'd even tried tough love! But nothing worked and she was worried that she was going to lose her son.

Maxine held her tears in check, even when every single member of the Ely household, minus Jake, hugged the little red-headed girl goodbye and the Forster's wagon bounced from sight. It wasn't until later, sometime during the night, when she went to check on the livestock in the barn and found her strong son crying softly in his horse's stall, that she broke down and wept like a baby beside him.

* * *

"Alright, Sam, we need to get to the station. Hurry up. We don't have much time." Wyatt frowned at his daughter. She was hugging her Gram goodbye one last time and the sight of it was making tears come to his eyes. Instead of letting himself break, he ordered his voice to be gruff. The small girl nodded silently and sadly and let her father set her on the buckboard's seat. She waved goodbye once again until she couldn't see the house anymore and then turned around and faced the front while tears streamed down her face.

The ride to the station was quiet and strained. Wyatt didn't try to talk. He knew his daughter was angry with him. Heck, he was angry with him!

He bought them both tickets and loaded her luggage onto the train cart as soon as they got to the train station. He left the buckboard with the inn's proprietor with a promise that he would be back the next day. The train, a great metal beast, sat along the platform, chugging and huffing like some demon as it swallowed people whole. Sam's blue eyes were wide and terrified, but dry as she stared at the machine.

"It'll be fun, Sam. A new experience." He told her, trying to calm her. They boarded the train and sat comfortably in their seats.

_My life is over,_ Sam convinced herself as she watched the people along the platform through her window. _And I'll never see anyone again._

The train pulled away leaving Darton and taking the young girl and her father to the great city of San Francisco.


End file.
